


Blessings in Disguise

by turquoisecity



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Theatre, This version of Westeros has Oscar Wilde, just go with it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:09:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 140,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2708516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turquoisecity/pseuds/turquoisecity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Catelyn Stark, Artistic Director of the crumbling Winterfell Theatre, decides to direct a production of Oscar Wilde's <i>The Importance of Being Earnest</i> in a desperate attempt to boost failing box office takings, she doesn't bargain on being forced to hire an infamous, bitter, has-been movie star with a gigantic attitude problem, to play the lead role - much to the displeasure of the rest of her cast and crew. </p><p>No one is less pleased than Catelyn's devoted Stage Manager, Brienne Tarth, recently promoted and a touch out of her depth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How you can sit there, calmly eating muffins, when we are in this horrible trouble, I can't make out.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first real attempt at writing anything for this fandom and I'm frankly terrified to post it. All of you guys are so awesome and so knowledgeable and write such amazing stuff, and I feel a lot less confident about writing these characters than I've done with other fandoms in the past. 
> 
> With that in mind, I decided to keep it simple and keep it light. I can't write angst, and I'm way too scared to attempt anything deep, or canon compliant, so this is humorous and totally modern AU verging on cracky. It's probably not very original, but I'm an actress, so I kept coming back to something set in the theatre. Jaime as an actor makes sense to me. Don't worry, Brienne is not going to have some ugly-duckling-type transformation and end up as his leading lady. That is NOT going to happen. She stays firmly backstage, which felt right for her.
> 
> I say it's a little cracky for two reasons. One, I've taken some major liberties with the allegiances and locations of a number of the characters. Catelyn, Brienne, Renly, Loras, Stannis and Sandor all work together and are all based in Winterfell for no good reason. So, sorry about that. 
> 
> Secondly, I really wanted the characters to be performing a well-known play which readers would actually be familiar with, rather than my inventing something. I narrowed it down to Shakespeare, or _The Importance of Being Earnest_ , lol. I chose the latter because the characters are all so snarky that it felt appropriate for our ASOIAF friends. Plus, Olenna would make the ultimate Lady Bracknell. Seriously. 
> 
> So yeah, they have Oscar Wilde in this Westeros. I try to think of it like how we in the UK or US perform plays by foreign authors like Ibsen or Chekhov in translation so frequently that it's easy to forget they're not part of 'our' literary canon. But basically you're going to have to just go with the notion that Oscar Wilde's England and modern Westeros are kind of part of the same universe here, somehow. I do meta that a little bit in this first chapter. It's just for fun. 
> 
> Also - fair warning, there's no Jaime in this chapter. Next time.
> 
> The story title and all chapter titles are quotes from the play.

**_How you can sit there, calmly eating muffins, when we are in this horrible trouble, I can't make out._ **

Catelyn Stark sighed as she sat at her desk, nibbling on a muffin and flicking despondently through the ‘Young Male Actors’ pages displayed on her screen.

 _Who am I kidding?_ she asked herself gloomily for the second time that morning. She’d already been twice through what seemed like the entirety of _The White Book Online_ _\- the Ultimate Search Resource for Showbusiness Talent in Westeros_ , and if there was anyone in there who was suitable to take one of the two male lead roles in the new production of _The Importance of Being Earnest_ which she was about to direct, then they weren’t jumping off the screen at her.

Even if they did, then the chances of persuading any of them to spend a month performing at The Winterfell Theatre (plus a month of rehearsals beforehand) were slim to zero. She knew all of the local talent, had cast her net as wide as she felt able already, and had now been reduced to trawling the thousands of jobbing actors who _claimed_ to be desperate for work, but who would in fact turn up their noses at anything outside of King’s Landing. A job as far north as Winterfell would be seen as virtual career suicide by most of the profession.

Gods knew she’d only managed to get Margaery Tyrell to come up from the capital because her grandmother, the veteran actress Olenna Redwyne, was playing Lady Bracknell. And she’d only managed to get _Olenna_ because everyone - including Olenna - knew there was simply nobody else in all the Seven Kingdoms who could play that role like her.

Catelyn sighed again and pulled her grey woolen drapey cardigan a little closer around her shoulders. _Winter is coming,_ she could almost hear Ned’s voice saying, as she stole a glance through the window at the already darkening skies.

But then, it seemed these days like winter was always bloody coming.

‘Ah – Mother?’ Sansa appeared in her office doorway.

Catelyn looked up at her eldest daughter. She was immaculately dressed as always, in a neat black pencil skirt, sensible heels, a pink blouse with a pussycat bow and a little jacket. Since becoming Catelyn’s PA, she had taken her professional attire extremely seriously – probably more seriously, Catelyn reflected, than she took her actual work.

She knew, of course, that Sansa didn’t want to be there. She was desperate to train as a film and TV make-up artist, but there was no opportunity for any such thing outside of King’s Landing, and with finances at the theatre the way they were, Catelyn simply didn’t have the money to fulfill her daughter’s dream.

 _Besides, Ned wouldn’t have approved_ , she mused. But that didn’t stop the mild pang of guilt and pain which she felt every time she looked at Sansa, dressed in a manner more appropriate to working in a bank, and _trying_ _so hard_ out of loyalty to her mother and to her father’s memory. Catelyn told herself that she needed Sansa there, but she was only convinced approximately half of the time.

‘What is it, Sansa?’ she asked.

‘There’s a phone call for you,’ said Sansa. ‘A Mr Lannister? From King’s Landing.’

Catelyn’s eyebrows shot up, and then knit into a suspicious frown. ‘Did you say _Lannister?_ ’ she repeated incredulously.

Sansa nodded.

Catelyn thought for a moment. ‘ _Which_ Mr Lannister?’

‘Oh, is there more than one?’ asked Sansa innocently. ‘Is it important? Shall I go and ask?’

On the other hand, Sansa was a _terrible_ PA.

‘Yes, dear, there are dozens of them. But I shouldn’t think it makes any difference. They’re all as bad as each other. Just put him through,’ she concluded with a resigned sigh.

‘Okay!’ answered Sansa brightly, and disappeared.

Catelyn wracked her brains to imagine why _any_ Lannister might be phoning her. They moved in a different world. All she knew for sure was that they all worked for Tywin Lannister, the ruthless multi-millionaire head of Westeros’ largest film company, Lannister Productions - and the man who years ago had effectively ended Ned’s fledgling acting career with a cruel rejection in favour of a family member, and sent him scurrying back to Winterfell.

Not that it had been all bad; she and Ned taken over the Winterfell Theatre together – Ned as Executive Director and Cat as Artistic Director – and for a while it had all been wonderful. But now Ned was gone, cancer eating him up in the course of a mere few months, and she was struggling, trying to hold down both roles and keep the theatre (once known, in its past heyday, as ‘the King in the North’ for the majesty of its architecture and the quality of its productions) afloat financially.

 _Earnest_ was her last ditch attempt, her final gambit. If this show wasn’t a success, then Winterfell would almost certainly go under, and soon. She hadn’t told her staff yet – not even Brienne, whom she’d pretty much trust with anything – but it was highly stressful.

So the last person she wanted to speak to right now was a _Lannister -_ every last one of them a rich, arrogant, grasping, entitled scoundrel who didn’t care whom they trod on to get ahead. But she had to admit that she was curious.

Her desk phone buzzed. Taking a deep breath and composing her face and voice into the correct mask of professional neutrality, she picked up.

‘Catelyn Stark,’ she answered smoothly.

A foreign-accented woman’s voice purred into her ear. ‘Good morning, Mrs Stark, my name is Shae. I have Mr Lannister on the line for you, would you hold please?’

 _Gods, they can’t even dial their own phones now?_ she thought irritably, but managed to reply, ‘Of course,’ hoping the clenching of her jaw wasn’t audible down the phone line.

‘Thank you,’ said Shae, and the line switched briefly to some hold music. Rather upbeat rock, which seemed unusual. Then a jovial, aristocratic male voice exploded through the noise.

‘Mrs Stark!! A _very_ good morning to you! Tyrion Lannister here. How are you this fine morning?’

‘Ah, I’m – fine, thank you,’ replied Catelyn, a little taken aback. _Tyrion_ Lannister? Wasn’t that Tywin Lannister’s _son?_ The dwarf? She wasn’t sure exactly whom she’d been expecting to be on the other end of the line, but it certainly wasn’t as prominent a member of the family as that.

‘Excellent, excellent!’ exclaimed Tyrion. ‘Although I doubt if it _is_ a fine morning up there, eh? I remember the last time I went north. Nearly froze my bloody balls off.’

Catelyn cleared her throat meaningfully. ‘Ah – what can I _do_ for you, Mr Lannister?’ she enquired frostily.

‘Aha!’ he cried. ‘Now, now, my dear lady. It is more a question of what _I_ can do for _you._ And please, call me Tyrion.’

She did her best to suppress a sigh. Surely no conversation in history had ever begun with the words ‘It’s more a question of what I can do for you’ and ended well.

‘Very well – Tyrion,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘I’m all ears.’

‘That’s the ticket! Now,’ he said, suddenly adopting a rapid, businesslike tone, ‘a little bird tells me that you’re currently casting for _Earnest_ , am I correct?’

Catelyn’s radar instantly switched to high alert. She hadn’t made any official announcements as yet. She had no idea how someone in the King’s Landing film industry could have got hold of that information, nor could she imagine how it could possibly interest them, but something felt amiss.

‘What little bird would that be, Mr Lannister?’

‘Margaery Tyrell,’ he replied at once. ‘She and I are – close friends. I understand you’ve cast her as Cecily? An excellent choice, if I may say so.’

Catelyn took a moment, breathing steadily as she considered her next move. He was up to something, she could tell.

‘And – forgive me – but how does this affect Lannister Productions?’ she asked at length, slowly. ‘Miss Tyrell gave me to understand that she wasn’t under contract to anyone. If there’s been a misunderstanding’ –

To her surprise, Tyrion guffawed with laughter. ‘Oh, by the Seven, no!’ he exclaimed. ‘Well, not _that_ sort of misunderstanding anyway. However, I can assure you that I have nothing _whatsoever_ to do with Lannister Productions. _That_ , my dear Mrs Stark, would entail working with my _father_ , and despite what you may have heard about me, I like to think that I haven’t sold my soul to the Stranger _quite_ yet. No no no no _no!_ I run Tyrion Lannister Associates, an independent casting agency. I’m an _agent_. I’m sorry, I really thought you knew.’

Catelyn breathed a long sigh of relief and smiled. ‘Gosh, no, _I’m_ sorry, Mr Lan – I mean Tyrion,’ she began a little sheepishly. ‘It was just’ –

‘It was just when you heard the name “Lannister”, you broke out in hives and wondered whether your phones were being bugged,’ he finished amiably. ‘Don’t worry, I get it. No hard feelings, eh? So, now that we’ve cleared that up, may I continue?’

‘Of course,’ she answered, embarrassed.

‘Marvellous. Thank you. So, as I was saying, it seems that while Margaery was up there visiting your chilly citadel for the auditions, she became rather friendly with your daughter. Um, Sondra, is it?’

‘Sansa,’ she corrected.

‘Ah yes, Sansa. Forgive me. Well, it appears she and Margaery did lunch together several times and had _quite_ the heart-to-heart.’

‘Oh?’ queried Catelyn, her heart beginning to sink.

‘Yes,’ Tyrion continued, with what sounded like a note of mischief starting to creep into his voice. ‘I gather that Sansa is _very_ keen to pursue a career in the movie industry. In make-up? _So_ difficult to break into these days. Unless one has the right connections, of course.’

Catelyn breathed sharply in and made a non-committal ‘Mm’ noise. _Where was he going with this?_

‘So, just out of curiosity, Catelyn – may I call you Catelyn? Excellent,’ he continued, without pausing for her reply. ‘Do tell me, Catelyn – if Margaery is to be Cecily, whom have you cast as Gwendolen?’

She hesitated for a second, but couldn’t see any harm in disclosing the information since he was already personally acquainted with one cast member, and since Sansa seemed to have been somewhat liberal with her revelations.

‘I’m not sure you’d be familiar with her. A young actress by the name of Ygritte Wild. She’s done a great deal of excellent work with North-of-the-Wall Productions. I’m not sure whether you’d have heard of’ –

‘Ah, the “radical collective”. Yes indeed.’ He laughed gleefully. ‘Well that’s just _outstanding_ news!’ Catelyn couldn’t see why he should be so pleased about it. ‘So what’s she like, this Ygritte?’

‘Oh – tall, red-haired’ –

‘Ah. Feisty then? Like yourself?’

 _Is he_ flirting _with me?_ _How does he even know I have red hair?_ she wondered, glancing rapidly around her office in an irrational moment of suspicion that he might actually have hidden cameras in there, before coming to her senses again.

‘Ah, well, I, um,’ she stuttered. ‘She’s, um, got a forceful personality, yes. Lots of vitality. I’m sure she’s the right choice for Gwendolen. A few little accent issues which we might need to iron out, but nothing insurmountable.’

‘Hmm. Excellent,’ he said again, a little distractedly. There was the briefest of pauses before he continued in a sly tone, ‘And I gather that the parts of Algernon and Jack are, as yet, uncast?’

‘Yes, that’s correct,’ she responded, somewhat tersely. This was a very sensitive topic with her right now. ‘Why, did you have someone whom you wish me to see for one of the roles?’

It seemed highly improbable, but she couldn’t fathom any other reason for his call or all the questions about her casting of the show. But it was pointless, she couldn’t afford a high profile King’s Landing actor, and if was some troublesome unknown whom he was trying to foist on her then she could find plenty of those in Winterfell, thank you very much.

‘In - a manner of speaking,’ replied Tyrion after a moment’s hesitation. ‘But correct me if I’m wrong, does the Winterfell Theatre not have a resident leading man?’

Catelyn drew in a breath. ‘Ah, we do, yes. Renly Baratheon. And yes, he will certainly be taking _one_ of the two lead roles. But, um’ – She hesitated, uncertain how much she should reveal.

‘…but you want somebody new, a fresh face, dare I say _a Name_ , to play the lead role of Jack, and to give Renly the part of Algernon, which is _almost_ the lead but not quite. _But_ you haven’t found anybody better than him, so now you’re furiously debating with yourself whether to find an unknown for Algernon and to just give Jack to Renly, which will please your regular punters but won’t put any _new_ warm bums on those chilly, chilly seats. Which is what your theatre most desperately, nay _urgently_ , needs right now. Hence your picking a people-pleasing but ultimately rather dull, outdated and over-worked play in a final attempt to save your sinking ship.’

Her utter speechlessness prompted him to add apologetically, by way of explanation, ‘Your dear Sansa was most _terribly_ chatty, I’m afraid.’

She really would have to have a word with Sansa about professional discretion.

But if she’d spilled all of the company secrets already then there didn’t seem much point in denying it.

‘I believe you have the right of it there, Mr Lannister,’ sighed Catelyn defeatedly at last.

‘Tyrion,’ he corrected merrily. ‘Now, Catelyn – what would you say if I told you I have a proposition for you which might just solve all of your problems?’

She snorted. ‘Well - _Tyrion._ I think that first I would probably say, “What’s in it for you?” And secondly, “Something tells me I’m not going to like it”,’ she responded wryly.

He chuckled in response. ‘Oh, you do rather have the measure of me, don’t you?’ he exclaimed delightedly. ‘Well, in answer to your first question, I was rather hoping that it could also help me out with a large and rather tenacious problem of my own. And secondly, you’re right, I can pretty much – no, I can one hundred percent guarantee that your initial response will be one of absolute horror. Which is why I have added a little sweetener for you. If you agree to this, not only will my problem and your problem hopefully go away, but I assure you that I can also pull all the requisite strings to see to it that your little Sansa’s problem goes away too.’

‘You mean -?’

‘A guaranteed, paid, internship in the make-up department at Lannister Productions, training with the very best in the profession. All travel expenses and accommodation included. I know, I know, I said I have nothing to do with them,’ he added hurriedly. ‘Which was quite true. But I have my ways, don’t worry. A Lannister always pays his debts, you know.’

Catelyn gasped. That would be Sansa’s dream. But whatever it was that this man was trying to get her to agree to, whatever it would mean for Sansa, it couldn’t possibly justify that kind of bribery. And from the Lannisters, of all people!

Then again, she thought, looking around her shabby office, the way things were going, they would all be out of a job by the New Year if she didn’t do _something_ , and possibly something drastic.

But no. _No._ Ned would have been horrified.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Lannister’, she began, ‘but I really don’t think’ –

‘Catelyn’, he interrupted, his voice suddenly quiet and sincere. ‘Please? This, ah, this problem of mine, it’s, um – well, it’s very dear to my heart, you see, and - I’ve tried literally everything else.’ He actually sounded upset. ‘You’re my last hope, Catelyn. And after all, what have you got to lose?’ he concluded in a more encouraging tone.

 _Nothing_ , she thought. _And everything. Only everything. I’m sorry, Ned. If you were here… But you’re not. And I can’t let everything we worked for go. I just can’t. And it’s a chance for Sansa. Possibly the only one she’ll ever get. I’m sorry._

She took a deep breath, and with one final, hopeless glance at the nondescript men’s faces smiling or pouting at her from the pages of _The White Book Online_ , she closed her eyes and breathed, ‘Okay Tyrion. What did you have in mind?’

She heard him release a breath. ‘My _dear_ lady,’ he responded with an audible smile of relief. ‘I knew you’d see reason. _Thank you._ Now - here’s the thing…’

 

*********************************

 

‘But Stannis!’ pleaded Brienne in exasperation. ‘It’s just a couple of little changes to the script!’

‘The author’s words are sacrosanct, Brienne,’ the older man insisted, his mouth a grim line.

‘But Catelyn said’ –

‘I am aware of what Catelyn said, thank you, Brienne. That doesn’t mean I am obliged to agree with her opinion.’

‘She only suggested that we change the locations to make them more accessible to a Westerosi audience. You know, say King’s Landing instead of London, and make the country location Highgarden or somewhere like that.’ She hesitated before adding tentatively, ‘I think it’s a good idea.’

Stannis stood up and began to pace around the room. As Company Stage Manager, he was the only staff member besides Catelyn herself who had their own office. Of course, the main reason was that nobody in the general office wanted to work alongside him, partly because of his habit of hovering over their shoulders and correcting the grammar in their emails, and partly because of his odd-smelling vegetarian lunches.

‘What you apparently fail to grasp,’ he said in a frustrated tone, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as though in pain, ‘is that what you describe as ‘a couple of little changes’ will, in actual fact, open an immense can of worms.’ He rounded on her where she sat and fixed her with an evangelistic glare. ‘You may indeed change the word ‘London’ to ‘King’s Landing’. But where does that end, Brienne? Several specific locations within London are referred to in the script, some of them integral to the plot. Must we change all of these also? To what would we change them? Who is to decide? Is Catelyn superior to Oscar Wilde?’

Brienne chewed her lip, uncertain whether this was a rhetorical question or not. ‘Well, she is the director’ – she tried.

‘And what of the main character’s assumed name, “Jack Worthing”?’ continued Stannis, ignoring her completely. ‘A name which he explicitly states was given to him in reference to a particular English town. What should we call him? “Jack Sunspear”, perhaps? Do you see where this ends, Brienne? Do you? In chaos. And I will not have chaos in - my - theatre.’ He sat down stiffly in his chair.

 _It’s Catelyn’s theatre_ , she thought.

‘Well, perhaps…’ she began. ‘Um, I mean, I don’t think you’d need to go _that_ far. I think, um - it’s just a token gesture. Changing the main locations, I mean.’

‘A _token gesture?!’_ repeated Stannis in horror, clutching his chest as though she’d struck him with a sword. ‘You – you’re not _seriously_ suggesting that we alter _some_ of the references, but leave the others untouched?’

‘Um, maybe?’

‘But – but – but – that would give rise to _inconsistency_ , Brienne.’ Stannis leaned forward across the desk, his face deadly serious, and dropped his voice to a hush. ‘I realize that you are somewhat inexperienced in these matters, but if you are to have a successful career in the field of stage management, Brienne, it is imperative that you comprehend the importance of consistency. The Stage Manager’s job is to ensure cohesion - in all things, at all times. It is the only way for the audience to trust us. And by us, I mean the actors. The company as a whole, if you will.’ He raised an admonishing finger. ‘Abandon cohesion, abandon _consistency_ , Brienne, and you lose that trust. And without that trust, where are we? Hmm?’

Brienne sighed. ‘Do you really think the audience will notice?’

‘That is not the point,’ Stannis replied stiffly. ‘It matters little whether they notice, on a _conscious_ level, all the details of the production. In fact it is almost impossible for the average human brain to absorb all such details at a single hearing. The problem lies with the subliminal. If the audience even sense that we, and by ‘we’, I mean the director, is – or are – willing to play fast and loose with the integrity of the script, then what message does that send? Hmm? It tells them that we _do not care_. It tells them that Theatre, which is, after all, almost the last bastion of true culture in this corrupt world, is as compromised, as rotten at its core, as everything else. And I, for one, will not be a party to that.’

Brienne shifted awkwardly in the too-small plastic chair. ‘So, um, what do you want me to tell Catelyn?’ she asked.

Stannis looked sharply at her. ‘You may inform her that I shall not be making the changes which she proposes.’

She chewed her lip nervously again. ‘Um, Stannis,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I’m not sure that Catelyn meant it as a _proposal_ , as such. She seemed fairly set on the idea. Um, sorry,’ she added anxiously, when his glare darkened.

There was a pause as Stannis pursed his lips. He turned to his computer screen. ‘Then you may inform her that I have no further wish to be directly involved with this production,’ he said primly, without looking up. ‘It is a play of the utmost frivolity, in any case. Frankly, I should be embarrassed to have my name associated with it. Catelyn has my permission to find someone else to take care of the day-to-day running of this show. I wash my hands of it.’

 _Like she needs your permission to do anything_ , thought Brienne, rolling her eyes. ‘Thanks, Stannis,’ she said, and rising heavily from the chair she strode out of the room in the direction of Catelyn’s office.

Catelyn’s door stood slightly ajar. Brienne knocked tentatively. There was no reply, so she knocked a little louder.

When there was still no reply, she called, ‘Catelyn?’ and finally dared to give the door a gentle push. Of course, she pushed it a little harder than she had intended, and the door swung open to reveal Catelyn sitting behind her desk, staring wide-eyed and blank with what looked like severe shock.

‘Catelyn?’ repeated Brienne, this time in some alarm. ‘Are you okay? Catelyn!’

‘Hmm?’ said Catelyn at last, blinking. She shook herself almost imperceptibly and focused her eyes on Brienne, but her face still looked catatonic. ‘Oh, Brienne. Hi.’ There was a pause. ‘I’m sorry, did you say something?’

‘I said, “Are you okay?”’

‘Hmm? What? Why?’

‘You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Oh – er – I mean, ah – sorry’ – Brienne spluttered, realizing too late the probable inappropriateness of mentioning ghosts to someone whose loved one was relatively recently departed.

Catelyn let out an almost hysterical sounding laugh, and Brienne took an involuntary step backwards, wondering for a second whether her employer had lost her mind. ‘Sorry. Are you okay?’ she repeated for the third time.

Catelyn inhaled and exhaled loudly. ‘Brienne,’ she said eventually, ‘tell me something. Have you ever made a decision against your better judgment – and I mean something just utterly, _utterly_ insane, which people were going to blame you and possibly even hate you for - and yet which you also knew you had no option but to make, for the sake of something or someone which you love? Have you ever done that?’

Brienne swallowed, then raised her chin proudly and said, ‘No, I haven’t. I always try to do what’s right.’

Catelyn regarded her for a long moment. ‘Yes, you do, don’t you?’ she said thoughtfully. She let out a wistful sigh. ‘I always thought I did too. You know? But lately, since Ned died…’

She tailed off. Brienne blushed and looked down at her sneakers. She owed Catelyn everything. She had given her this job when really she was a little too inexperienced for the position, but Catelyn had taken a chance on her and she strove daily not to let her down. For Brienne, she was almost like a second mother after she had lost her own, and watching her grieve for her husband over the past year had been very hard. She didn’t like to hear Cat mention it because she desperately wanted to comfort her but didn’t have the right words.

She looked up again at the sound of Catelyn apparently viciously attacking the ‘Escape’ button on her computer keyboard. ‘Er – Catelyn?’ she ventured again.

‘Oh, yes, sorry, did you want something?’

Brienne took a deep breath. ‘It’s Stannis.’

This time it was Catelyn who rolled her eyes. ‘When _isn’t_ it Stannis?’ she said, with the first hint of a smile since Brienne had entered the room. ‘What’s he done this time?’

‘Um. Well. He says he won’t make the changes to the script and the play is totally frivolous and he refuses to stage manage it,’ she forced out, all in a rush.

To Brienne’s surprise, Catelyn let out a long peal of laughter.

‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ she managed at last. ‘And to think that on a normal day, that would be the worst of my problems.’ She looked at Brienne and ran an appraising eye over the younger woman once again. ‘How long have you been with us now?’ she asked.

‘Fifteen months.’

‘And you enjoy being Assistant Stage Manager?’

‘Oh yes!’ exclaimed Brienne enthusiastically. ‘ _So_ much! Really, Catelyn, I can’t tell you how grateful’ –

‘Brienne,’ laughed Catelyn. ‘I think you’ve possibly told me about a million times how grateful you are. It’s _okay_. I think you do a great job. An _amazing_ job. I don’t regret taking you on for one second.’

‘Oh. Thanks,’ blushed Brienne.

‘So much so, in fact, that I’d like to offer you an opportunity, if you think you’re up for it. How would you like to be the acting Stage Manager on _Earnest_?’

Brienne’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re not – you can’t be serious?’

‘I’m deadly serious. Stannis is driving me round the bend. I’m not firing him or anything, he’ll still be involved in an administrative capacity – plus, just between you and me, I need him around at times to keep Renly’s ego in check. But, if he says he doesn’t want to run this show, then Seven help me but I’m going to take him at his word. So you’ll be backstage on the night, every night, making sure everything runs smoothly. You’ve worked enough shows now that I’m confident you can do it. And you’ll still have Sandor to help with the set and the technical side. What do you say, Brienne?’

Brienne was so overwhelmed that she was almost hyperventilating at what her boss was proposing. That, and the struggle not to blush at the mention of Renly’s name, even though she’d put her crush and all that silliness resolutely behind her.

‘Well,’ she began with difficulty. ‘It’s – it’s a tremendous honour. I promise I won’t let you down. I – I mean - if you’re sure’ –

‘Of course, you’d also be required to attend every rehearsal,’ Catelyn added. ‘And to, um, handle the actors in the event of any, um, trouble.’

Brienne looked up in alarm, and wasn’t much comforted by the worried look on Catelyn’s face.

‘Oh, well, I’m not too sure about that part, honestly,’ she admitted. ‘I mean, yes, running the show, keeping everything on book and on time and in place, that’s my forte. I can do that. I’d _love_ to do that. But the people management aspect is, um, new to me.’

‘Well, this is as good a time to learn as any,’ said Catelyn brusquely, not quite meeting her eye, and added half under her breath, ‘Nothing like a baptism of fire.’

‘I’m sorry?’ queried Brienne.

Catelyn glanced at her again. ‘You did say you were a fully qualified fight choreographer, didn’t you?’ she asked suddenly, half smiling.

‘Um, yes, that’s right. I learned back on Tarth, from someone in my father’s theatre company. But I don’t quite see what – um – I mean, there’s no stage fighting in this show, is there?’

Catelyn slowly raised one wry eyebrow. ‘Not _on_ stage, Brienne. No. Not _on_ stage.’

Brienne frowned. ‘I’m not sure I’ -

The older woman relaxed and smiled. ‘Oh, just humour me. I’m sorry. I’m just having possibly the craziest day of my entire existence, that’s all. In the spirit of which – why don’t you go and fetch Stannis and we can break the good news to him together, eh?’

‘Oh. Do we have to? I mean, won’t he be - ?’

‘Brienne. Would you, or would you not, enjoy annoying Stannis to his face and there being absolutely _nothing_ he can do about it?’ she asked.

Brienne grinned. ‘I would.’

‘Okay then. So please tell him I’m calling a meeting at twelve. And get Renly on the phone and bring him in too. I don’t care if he’s in bed. This concerns him directly. He can bring Loras if he must. In fact, yes, tell him to bring Loras, this affects him too. It appears we may have a slight, um, costume design challenge for him.’

‘Right. Okay. What exactly should I say the meeting is about?’

Catelyn took a deep breath and looked up at Brienne with a curious look on her face. ‘I’m going to announce the final cast,’ she said in a strange tone. She paused again. ‘And then,’ she added grimly, turning back to her keyboard, ‘I think we’re all going to need a _very stiff drink_.’

 

 

 

 

****

 


	2. I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat breaks the news, and the leading man makes his entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I, in the best tradition of comic theatre, apparently like to give my main character a lot of buildup before they actually appear.

_**I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train. ** _

‘I’m sorry, Cat,’ drawled Renly sarcastically after a long silence, leaning back in his chair, arms folded, his eyes narrow, ‘but for a second there it sounded for all the world as though you said _Jaime Lannister_.’

‘I did,’ Catelyn responded with a tight, high smile.

‘ _Jaime. Lannister._ ’ Renly repeated in horrified disbelief. ‘ _The_ Jaime Lannister? You’re giving _my part_ to’ –

‘It is _not_ ‘your’ part,’ interrupted Catelyn sternly. ‘It never was _your_ part. I made no such promise. You will be playing Algernon, a substantial role, as you are fully aware. You simply cannot take the lead role in every single production, Renly. We need to shake things up a little from time to time for the sake of our audiences.’

‘Yeah but come _on_ , Cat’ – began Loras.

‘Loras, I’m sorry, but this is a directorial decision which doesn’t concern you.’

Brienne looked from Renly to Catelyn in silent panic. This wasn’t right. Renly was the star of the Winterfell Theatre. He _should_ have the lead role. The majority of their audience was made up of elderly ladies who bought season tickets purely in order to see him. Brienne always tried to watch as many of his performances as she possibly could. She had long since accepted that he was unattainable romantically, and had even managed to form a friendship of sorts with both him and Loras, but that didn’t stop her swooning over his looks and talent every time he stepped onstage.

She tried to catch his eye with a sympathetic look, but he was in full-on rant mode, eyeballing Catelyn with fury.

‘” _Shake things up”?!_ You’re telling me that you seriously believe that our audiences – my _fans_ – are going to be perfectly happy to watch me playing second fiddle to bloody Jaime ‘I-pretend-to-fuck-my sister-onscreen-or-oops-maybe-I-don’t-always-pretend’ Lannister?!’

The technical ASM, Sandor Clegane, who was seated beside Brienne, laughed loudly and slapped his thigh with delight. Catelyn glared at him.

‘Renly’, said Stannis in a warning tone.

‘I just want to make sure that we’re talking about the same guy, Stan,’ said Renly with bitter sarcasm. He leaned back once more, his eyes still on Catelyn’s face. ‘Blond? Obnoxiously hot? Obnoxiously obnoxious? So many scandals and dramas that he practically keeps the King’s Landing tabloid press afloat single-handed? Ooh, pardon the pun,’ he added with pointed malice, prompting another snigger from Sandor.

‘Renly!’ said Stannis sharply. ‘That was quite uncalled for. I thought better of you than to mock a man who has fallen victim to a grave misfortune. And kindly do not address me as ‘Stan’, thank you.’

‘What misfortune?’ asked Brienne.

Catelyn opened her mouth to reply, but Renly was still in full flow, ignoring everyone else.

‘How in all the seven hells can you possibly afford to hire somebody that big anyway?’ he asked Catelyn furiously.

Catelyn looked down at her desk. ‘Well, the fact is, um – Mr Lannister’s fee is being paid by an outside source. Together with all expenses.’

‘It’s _WHAT?!!_ By _who??’_

‘Whom,’ corrected Stannis, earning him a death glare from his younger brother.

‘Not that it’s really any of your concern, Renly,’ said Catelyn tersely, ‘but since we are old friends, and since you ask – I received a phone call from Jaime Lannister’s agent, his brother Tyrion. He has undertaken to finance Mr Lannister’s appearance at Winterfell in its entirety. He has also…’ She hesitated.

‘He’s also _what?_ ’

Catelyn swallowed. ‘Well, I’d rather this information didn’t leave this room at the present time,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to get anyone else’s hopes up. But, um, he assures me that if this production is a success, then he will personally guarantee that at the end of the run, we transfer to King’s Landing with the original cast. It’s truly a wonderful opportunity. For all of us.’

There was a short silence, followed by a bark of laughter from Renly.

‘Oh, Cat,’ he sighed at last, shaking his head. ‘Sorry, love, but you’ve been had. Let me get this straight, okay? Tyrion Lannister is not only _paying_ you to hire his useless, has-been asshole of a brother to play the lead in our production, but he’s actually pretending to bribe you with a promise which he’s never going to have to make good on? Of _course_ it’s not going to be a success! Think about it. It’s a _theatre_ production, Catelyn. Quite apart from everything else, you do realise that he’s probably never even set foot on an actual stage since he was in drama school?’

Catelyn drew in a breath and appeared to be trying very hard to keep her calm. ‘I don’t see how that’s relevant,’ she snapped. ‘He’s a talented actor, and I’m quite sure he’s a professional who’ –

Loras made a small snort of contempt. Catelyn shot him a quick side-eye but ploughed on. ‘Besides, there has been, as I’m sure you’re aware, a trend in recent years for well-known film actors to make a stage, um, _comeback_ , as it were, which has proved very popular among King’s Landing audiences, as I understand it. Tyrion Lannister’s feeling was that there was no reason why this shouldn’t work equally well up here, and I agree with him. Jaime Lannister is a ‘name’. It’s good box office.’ She paused. ‘And he was also of the opinion that it could give his brother’s career what he described as ‘a much-needed boost’.

‘Catelyn, darling, what his career needs is the fucking kiss of life,’ said Loras. ‘Or to be put out its misery, one or the other.’

‘Forgive me, Catelyn,’ interjected Stannis, ‘but I must concur with Renly that this does seem a little unorthodox. Are you quite certain that Mr Lannister has actually agreed to this arrangement?’

Catelyn huffed in frustration. ‘I’ve seen a scanned copy of the contract with his signature on it, Stannis. Does that answer your question?’

‘And you are quite sure that it was his signature?’

‘Well,’ she snapped impatiently, ‘it looked to me like the signature of a right-hander attempting to write with their left, so I’m guessing yes.’

‘Someone could have been holding a gun to his head,’ said Renly in a bitter tone.

‘Yeah, or a prop gun to his back which they “thought” had fake bullets in it, ha ha ha!’ put in Sandor. Much to Brienne’s surprise, Loras guffawed and high-fived him. ‘Ah, fuck me. Kingslayer jokes, that takes me back!’ added Sandor gleefully. ‘This is gonna be the most fucking fun I’ve had in years!’

‘Glad _someone’s_ going to enjoy it,’ muttered Renly. Loras made a kissy face at him.

‘Gentlemen, please!’ cried Catelyn hopelessly.

‘Um, sorry,’ interrupted Brienne, sensing the moment for a change of tack. ‘But I’m not sure I’m entirely following this discussion. What’s the problem with Jaime Lannister, exactly?’

Loras stared at her incredulously. ‘Oh Brie, you’ve _got_ to be kidding?’ he chuckled. ‘He’s like, one of the most famous people in Westeros, sweetie.’

‘No,’ said Brienne somewhat mulishly, embarrassed as she always was when attention was drawn to her ignorance of popular culture. ‘I’m not _kidding_. I – I just don’t really follow movies or celebrity gossip, okay? I mean, I’ve _heard_ of him, obviously.’

‘Aww, you’re adorable!’ chuckled Loras. ‘Cat, darling, I think we need to educate our little Brie here. Do you mind?’ he asked, indicating Catelyn’s computer.

‘Oh no, please, go ahead,’ said Catelyn sarcastically. She stood up and began pacing the room.

Loras moved around the desk, took up the seat which she had just vacated and began typing.

Renly craned his neck to look at the screen. ‘Are you looking him up on _White Book_?’

‘Nah,’ said Loras. ‘They write that shit themselves. It’ll only say the good stuff.’ He winked at Renly, who smirked back. ‘I’m looking for his entry in westpedia.com. It’ll be more impartial. Aha, here we are. Okay, Brienne, you listening? You too, Cat, for that matter?’

Brienne nodded. Catelyn made no response and continued to pace.

‘ _Jaime Tytos Lannister_ ,’ began Loras, reading, ‘ _actor, King’s Landing. Born 6 th August 1976 (age 38)_’ –

‘There you are!’ cried Renly in triumph. ‘He’s too old for the part! Jack’s supposed to be twenty-eight. It says so in the script. Ha!’

‘ _You’re_ thirty-three, Renly,’ said Catelyn flatly. ‘Anyway, we can change it, it doesn’t matter.’

Stannis made a small, strangled noise of protest. Catelyn whirled on him.

‘Stannis, for the last time!’ she snapped. ‘I _will_ make changes to the script where I deem it appropriate. Besides, with Old Nan playing Miss Prism, it makes sense for Jack to be older and for the past events to have taken place closer to forty years ago. It’s _not_ an issue. _All right?’_ She rubbed her temples. ‘Continue, Loras.’

‘Okay, um - yeah - _age 38, son of Tywin Lannister, film producer, and Joanna Lannister, actress (deceased). Siblings – Cersei Lannister, actress, and Tyrion Lannister, a casting agent. Education – Crakehall School for Boys_ – gods, I might have guessed he went THERE– _and King’s Landing Academy of Drama_. Okay, here we go. _Early career_. You ready for this, people?’

Loras cleared his throat and looked around with a grin to make sure he had everyone’s full attention. ‘ _Lannister received his big break at age seventeen when he was hand-picked by the much-loved veteran actor Aerys Targaryen_ – and there’s a link to his page - _to play his protégé in the war movie “The Mad King”._ _On the final day of filming, the two were shooting a scene in which Lannister’s character was supposed to shoot Targaryen’s character twice from behind with a pistol. He did so, but the prop gun turned out to contain live ammunition and Targaryen was killed instantly.’_

Loras paused for effect. _‘A trial followed, at which Lannister protested his innocence, but in the face of insufficient evidence, the court recorded a verdict of death by misadventure. It was widely believed in the press at the time, and indeed still is by many, that Lannister was guilty and that his father had bribed a judge to secure his acquittal, although nothing was ever proven. Nevertheless, he was subsequently dubbed “Jaime ‘Kingslayer’ Lannister” or more simply “the Kingslayer” by the popular press, in reference to the movie’s title – a soubriquet which persists to the present day.’_

Brienne sat stunned by what she was hearing. ‘That’s awful,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know things like that went on. He _killed_ Aerys Targaryen? My dad loves those old black-and-white movies of his from the fifties.’

‘Oh, it gets better,’ said Loras, glancing at Brienne with a smirk before returning to scanning the screen. ‘Wait, then it talks about how notoriety helped to launch his career, blah blah blah, then there’s a list of his films – wow, fucking hells, there must be nearly a hundred movie titles here! Even I didn’t realize he was _that_ prolific.’ He started to reel off a few titles, most of them extremely well-known films which Brienne had somehow managed to miss seeing.

‘Wait – _The War of the Five Kings_?’ she interrupted eventually. ‘That’s an action movie, right? I think I’ve seen that one. A long time ago though. Which one was he? There were a lot of guys in that.’

By way of reply, Loras spun the monitor screen so that Brienne could see it, clicking a button to enlarge the photo.

Brienne let out a little involuntary, breathy ‘Oh!’, because she was suddenly confronted with a full-screen size image of the handsomest man she had ever seen. She would never have been able to match the face to the name, but she did now recall seeing his picture before. It was hard to forget. He had golden hair, mesmerizing green eyes, a perfectly chiseled jawline, and posed in a tight white t-shirt which showed off impressive muscles. Brienne simply stared, wide-eyed and dumbstruck.

‘Oh yeah, he’s certainly _pretty_ ,’ said Renly knowingly, noticing her reaction with amusement. ‘Unfortunately he knows it. Peacocks about, he does - all hair and teeth and artlessly cool designer clothes and fuck-me stubble,’ he grumbled. Loras pouted at him and stroked his boyfriend’s beard soothingly. ‘At least, he did the last time I saw him, which was a fair few years ago, admittedly.’

Brienne somehow managed to rip her eyes away from the computer screen and regarded Renly with an entirely new awe. ‘You _know_ him??’ she breathed. ‘I – I mean, you’ve worked with him before?’

Renly laughed. ‘Not worked with him, no. Never moved in _those_ elevated circles, I’m sorry to say. But I’ve had the misfortune to meet him socially a couple of times. Stan has too.’ He nodded towards Stannis. ‘That dreadful harpy of a sister of his used to be married to our brother Robert.’

 _‘You’re RELATED to him?’_ squeaked Brienne.

‘In-laws of in-laws. _Ex_ in-laws of in-laws. Doesn’t even count.’

‘Nevertheless,’ put in Stannis, ‘he did manage to inveigle himself into one or two of our family celebrations at the time, if I recall, didn’t he, Renly? And please do not call me “Stan”.’

‘Yeah. He and Cersei used to stand in the corner looking superior or giggling at everyone while Robert just went off and got drunk. He’s an insufferable prick. Lannister, that is. Well, _and_ Robert.’

Stannis actually laughed. ‘Whatever happened to Cersei?’ he mused.

‘Rehab, last I heard,’ answered Renly.

‘Ah. The best place for her, I should imagine. Poor woman.’

‘No, Stan, the best place for her is the Stranger’s hell.’

‘Which brings us to the next episode of our little history programme,’ Loras interrupted in an imitation of a commanding TV voice.

Catelyn looked pained.

‘ _In the early 2000s,_ ’ he continued to read, ‘ _Lannister achieved further notoriety when he starred in a popular, although controversial, series of films in which he played the romantic lead opposite his twin sister, Cersei._ ’

‘What?!’ exclaimed Brienne.

Loras cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘ _The partnership came to an end when religious groups protested over two, now infamous, explicit scenes in the movies “The Broken Tower” and “The Purple Wedding”_ ’, he went on. ‘ _Despite Cersei Lannister maintaining that the scenes were simply artfully shot to deceive the viewer, the two films were banned, and the entire series of Lannister Siblings movies subsequently fell into disrepute._ ’

‘Oh my gods,’ said Brienne. ‘So did they really…?’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Sandor.

‘Nobody knows for sure,’ said Loras. ‘Do you really not remember this? It was all over the press at the time. “ _Did they or didn’t they?”_ When I was in college, people used to rent the DVD to watch that one scene over and over, to see if they could figure out whether they’d really done it or not. It was hilarious.’

‘I was still in high school,’ Brienne said. ‘Anyway, I told you, I don’t pay any attention to gossip magazines or tabloids. A fact which I think I’m rather glad about, actually. Catelyn,’ she said earnestly, turning to her boss, ‘this man sounds dreadful!’

‘Really, Brienne, I never had you down as the judgmental type,’ snapped Catelyn. ‘None of this has the slightest bearing on his abilities as an actor.’

‘No,’ said Loras wryly. ‘But _this_ does. _In 2011, Lannister was the victim of a vicious mugging near his King’s Landing home which resulted in the amputation of his right hand. Since then, his film output has been significantly reduced._ ’ He paused dramatically. ‘The End.’

Brienne experienced a sudden pang of sympathy, thinking of the beautiful man in the photo. ‘He lost his _hand?_ ’ she repeated softly.

‘Oh, so now you feel sorry for him all of a sudden?’ Renly asked peevishly.

‘No, I mean, yes – well, nobody deserves that,’ said Brienne, blushing a little.

‘There are some who would call it divine retribution,’ intoned Renly in a fake mysterious voice. ‘”The night is dark and full of terrors”, isn’t that right, Stan?’ he teased.

Stannis gave him a long, stony glare.

‘Right. I’ve had quite enough of this,’ interjected Catelyn abruptly. ‘Loras, will you kindly get out of my chair? Thank you.’ She sat down and fixed each person in turn with a beady eye in a manner reminiscent of a strict headmistress.

‘I am aware,’ she continued, ‘that this may not be the most _popular_ of casting choices for you. I am also aware that Mr Lannister has something of a reputation for being, how should I put it, _difficult_. Nevertheless, the decision is made. He is playing Jack and that is that. I take full responsibility for any – eventuality which arises from that. However, rest assured that I can, and will, recast or replace _anyone_ who deliberately provokes him, objects publicly to his presence, or generally makes life difficult. This is an unprecedented opportunity for Winterfell, and I intend to do my utmost to ensure that nothing goes wrong with this production. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yeah, he’s got one hand, an ego the size of Westeros, he doesn’t want to be here, and none of us want him here. What could _possibly_ go wrong?’ said Renly.

‘Renly,’ growled Stannis.

‘But you do _know_ that’ -

 _‘Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?’_ repeated Catelyn.

There were murmurs of subdued assent from all those present.

‘Very well then,’ she said with a tight-lipped smile. ‘I shall see everyone on Friday at ten for the first read-through. Good afternoon.’

Renly opened his mouth to speak again but was stilled by Loras’ hand on his arm.

‘Good afternoon,’ repeated Catelyn pointedly.

With further mumbling, everyone got up and shambled awkwardly out into the corridor. It was only when they were out of earshot of Catelyn’s office that Sandor stopped, turned, shook his head, and eloquently expressed what they were all thinking.

‘Well, fuck me sideways.’

He looked at Brienne, who looked at Renly, who looked at Loras, then Stannis, and then finally back to Sandor again. And then, as though with one mind, they all burst into wild, disbelieving, hysterical laughter.

***************************************************

Brienne looked at her watch for approximately the twentieth time in the past fifteen minutes, and cast another anxious glance at the company assembled in Winterfell’s smaller rehearsal room.

For the read-through, four Formica tables had been arranged into a rectangle with a space in the middle, and eleven chairs – of which ten were occupied – held the cast of _Earnest_ , plus Catelyn and Brienne who were seated at the top of the rectangular formation. Despite his protestations about wanting nothing to do with the production, Stannis had insisted on ‘sitting in’ (which Brienne supposed to mean that he doubted she was able to do his job adequately), and was seated to Catelyn’s left.

On the right, furthest from the door, sat the resident company members who had been cast in the smaller roles in the show. Nan and Luwin Wolf, the veteran acting couple who would be taking the roles of Miss Prism and Doctor Chasuble, had their spectacles on and were both sipping tea whilst studying their scripts, their seats close together as always. Next to them was Hodor, the ‘gentle giant’ who never spoke much offstage but who was a stalwart in the walk-on roles. He was to play Algernon’s butler and also to double up as other servants in the play.

Renly sat on the left hand-side of the tables, nearer to the door, talking quietly with Margaery Tyrell, Loras’ sister, and her grandmother Olenna. Margaery was dressed in a revealing, off the shoulder blue dress which was totally inappropriate for the season, but Brienne had spoken to her a few times and she seemed pleasant enough. At the far end of the table sat a skinny, red-haired young woman whom Brienne assumed must be the new actress, Ygritte. She was dressed in black leggings, Doc Martens and a biker jacket, and was clutching a takeout coffee as though her life depended on it. Catching Brienne’s eye, she gave her a big, friendly grin.

Brienne tentatively smiled back, and then frowned at the conspicuously empty chair on Ygritte’s left. Sighing, she looked at her watch again. It was 10.25am.

She glanced at Catelyn, who was furiously scribbling something on her copy of the script. Brienne was just wondering whether, as stage manager, she should be taking some sort of executive decision regarding beginning the rehearsal, when the door to the room suddenly flew open, crashing back against the wall with destructive force, and a tall, shambling figure stepped through the doorway, followed by a blast of cold wind.

Ten pairs of eyes looked up in expectant silence.

It took Brienne a moment or two to process the fact that the disheveled individual she was looking at was the same person whose photo she had practically swooned over just a few days ago. She had been expecting an ‘off duty’ look, but the man standing in the doorway looked like a hobo. His hair was brown, lank and greasy and looked as though he had either just rolled out of bed, or hadn’t been near a hairbrush in several months, or possibly both, while his face was covered by a thick, scraggly beard which all but entirely masked his facial structure. He was dressed in a pair of filthy-looking sneakers, baggy grey sweatpants, and a vast, oversized, faded red hoodie with the remains of some kind of yellow design on the back, the right sleeve of which dangled low down, covering his wrist completely.

He stood for a moment, fiddling with his left hand with a pair of iPod headphones which were slung around his neck, before looking up and apparently noticing the occupants of the room for the first time. He glanced around them all, a glint of green eyes flitting over Brienne, and seemed finally to spot the empty chair. Nobody spoke. Eventually, he ambled towards it, unhurried, threw himself down, and tipped the chair back on its two back legs like a child, then fumbled awkwardly again in his left pocket before producing a very shiny and new-looking iPhone 6. Crossing his left ankle across his right knee, he rested the phone carefully on his thigh – the muscular shape of which suddenly became discernible under his sweatpants - looked down and began tapping at it with his left index finger.

There was a long, long silence.

‘Er – hi,’ ventured Margaery Tyrell at length.

He whipped his head around in her direction and stared at her for what was just starting to become an uncomfortably long moment, when vague recognition finally dawned on his features. He mumbled an uninterested greeting and redirected his attention back to his phone.

Brienne looked at Catelyn. Catelyn looked at Stannis, who raised his eyebrows pointedly.

Eventually, Jaime Lannister raised his head and seemed to take in the expectant atmosphere.

‘Oh,’ he said mildly, in the type of cut-glass, bell-resonant voice which could only result from the combination of a privileged upbringing and drama school training, ‘are we waiting for something? You’re not waiting for _me_ to start, are you? _I_ don’t start. Algernon starts. Who’s Algernon?’ His eyes scanned the room again, the green sharper than before, before finally falling on Renly. ‘Oh, is it _you?_ ’ he said in a disappointed tone. ‘Oh. Never mind. All right then, begin.’ He waved the fingers of his left hand in an encouraging starting gesture.

There was another, intensely awkward pause. Brienne looked to Catelyn in agony. Catelyn cleared her throat loudly.

‘Mr Lannister,’ she said in a polite, carrying voice. ‘Good morning. Kind of you to join us. My name is Catelyn Stark. I thank you for your input, but _I_ am the director of this production. As such, it is up to me, or to my stage manager here, to begin the rehearsal.’

He leaned back even further and folded his arms, the right tucking against his body, hidden. A look of distinct amusement began to creep over his face, the merest hint of brilliant white teeth appearing amid the mess of his beard.

‘I believe,’ piped up Olenna, ‘that what we are all, in fact, waiting for, young man, is for you to produce your script.’

The front two legs of his chair hit the floor with a loud thud.

‘My _script?_ ’ he repeated, as though he had never heard the word before. He looked around again and seemed to notice the scripts on the desks in front of everyone else. ‘Oh,’ he said with a slight frown, then added brightly, ‘I’m off book.’

‘You’re _off book?_ ’ echoed Stannis, in a tone which was no doubt meant to convey disapproval but which betrayed an unmistakable note of admiration.

Catelyn shot him a look before turning back to Jaime. ‘Mr Lannister,’ she began again with a professional smile. ‘That’s – ah, that’s most impressive, especially considering you were only cast three days ago. However’-

‘It’s not _impressive_ ,’ he snorted. ‘For starters, I’ve played the part before, in drama school, or didn’t you look that up? And secondly, it’s _Earnest_. It’s one of the best known-plays in the world. Everybody should be off book. The bloody audience will be off book. If we don’t look snappy, they’ll be shouting prompts at us from the stalls.’

‘Be that as it may,’ said Catelyn firmly, ‘this is a read-through. We applaud your effort, but it isn’t actually a requirement to be off book for the read-through. In fact, rather the opposite is the case.’

‘By very definition,’ put in Stannis.

‘Sshh,’ whispered Brienne, before she could stop herself.

‘Well, I can’t say I actually expended any _effort_ , as such,’ said Jaime placidly. ‘I just sat in the back of my car listening to it on the interminable drive up to this gods-forsaken hole. I could have flown, of course, but I had my driver take the scenic route. Against all odds, he somehow managed to refrain from falling asleep at the wheel from boredom and killing us both – an outcome which, I must say, would have been preferable to actually arriving. However, regrettably, here I am, in one piece. Well, as good as.’ He swung on his chair again before adding. ‘It is a _very_ long way. So much so that I’m pretty sure I actually know everyone else’s parts as well as my own. So if you need an understudy, you know, any gaps you need filling, any _at all_ ,’ he said with a half-hearted leer at Catelyn, ‘I’m your man.’ He winked. Dazzlingly white teeth flashed for a millisecond.

 _Oh my gods_ , thought Brienne, _did he actually just hit on a grieving widow?_ Her stomach roiled slightly.

There was an uncomfortable murmur from Renly and Margaery’s end of the table. Ygritte and Olenna both looked mildly amused.

Catelyn took a deep breath.

‘I realize,’ she said through slightly gritted teeth, ‘that it may be a while since you last worked in theatre, Mr Lannister. Let me refresh your memory as to how things work. It is common practice, at least here, for all actors to use their scripts for the first two weeks of rehearsal. To enable them to write down notes and blocking and so forth.’

‘And how exactly do you suggest I do _that?!_ ’ sneered Jaime, his voice suddenly risen alarmingly, waving his foreshortened right arm at her. ‘I can’t even _act_ and hold a script at the same time, or are you COMPLETELY FUCKING STUPID?!!’

There was a deathly hush, as several mouths – Catelyn’s and Brienne’s among them – fell open in horror.

‘I – I’m’ – Catelyn stuttered.

Jaime ground his jaw and then spoke a little more calmly, as though explaining something to a child for the fiftieth time.

‘I can’t use a script, so I learn my lines. I use voice memos for notes. If you’d bothered to do any research about me _whatsoever_ , you would know that in actual fact I haven’t used a printed script since drama school. I’m dyslexic, so I do everything on audio. Trust me, it’s a great deal easier now’ – he waggled his iPhone – ‘than it was in the days when I had to use a Walkman. Now, can we get on with it? Or have you started without me?’ he added hopefully. ‘To be honest, I was rather hoping that if I managed to be late enough, I’d make it just in time for the tea break. I could murder a bloody cuppa.’

There was another excruciating pause.

‘Mr Lannister,’ said Catelyn, her tone placating but with an underlying edge of steel which Brienne knew well. ‘I apologise for our failure to take into account your – individual, um, _needs_ ,’ she faltered slightly under Jaime’s flinty emerald glare. ‘That was insensitive, and I assure you it won’t happen again. However,’ she continued, jutting her chin authoritatively, ‘I’m afraid you will have to wait for your tea. We have _not_ , as you suggest, started without you. You have the lead role, and you are late. In my theatre, that is unacceptable.’

She and Jaime stared one another down for a few seconds.

‘Now,’ continued Catelyn icily, ‘since you claim to be off book, I can only hope for your sake that you are word-perfect today. In my experience, actors like you who take shortcuts, or learn their lines in a rush, rarely do it as efficiently as they think they have.’

‘There are no actors like me,’ he shot back. ‘Only me.’ There was a beat of silence. ‘But yeah, okay, ready when you are. _Boss_ ,’ he added insolently.

‘Very well,’ said Catelyn coldly. ‘Thank you.’ She turned to Renly. ‘In your own time, then, Mr Baratheon, if you would, please?’

Renly gave her a long, withering look, but began to read.

Brienne had to admit that despite being possibly the rudest man she had ever come across, Jaime was as good as his word. As she followed the script it became quickly apparent that not only was he word perfect, he was dotted ‘i’ and crossed ‘t’ perfect. Not one ‘and’ or ‘the’ was out of place. He didn’t miss a single pause or cue, and on more than one occasion he actually corrected or prompted another actor, even though they had the script in front of them and he didn’t. It was an impressive display by any standards.

What was also apparent was that he was frighteningly, blisteringly good. Brienne had been around actors long enough to know when someone was putting a hundred percent into a performance and when they were keeping something in reserve. Jaime’s performance seemed to her to be around a sixty-percent-energy delivery at most, but even so, even sitting there in his sweatpants, his sheer talent and charisma were breathtaking. Even Renly warmed up somewhat, and by the time they had reached Jack’s iconic exchange with Lady Bracknell in the second scene - the air positively crackling as Jaime and Olenna sparked off each other as only two old pros can - the whole room was laughing and much of the earlier tension was forgotten.

At the end of Act 2 Scene 1, Catelyn called a break, and the usual scraping of chairs signalled the mass exodus for a cigarette and a gossip outside. Brienne stood and busied herself with tidying the chairs, and bent over to retrieve a script which someone had knocked under the table in their haste for the exit.

She jumped out of her skin and almost banged her head on the underside of the table when Jaime Lannister’s voice behind her – or what possibly passed for Jaime Lannister’s attempt at a ‘common folk’ accent - said, ‘Hey, mate, got a cigarette by any chance?’

He was standing by the door, patting at his pockets in that awkward left-handed manner again, his right arm held stiffly and protectively next to his waist.

Brienne crawled out from under the table, blushing furiously. She’d had no idea he was even still in the room.

‘Uh – no, sorry. I don’t smoke,’ she said.

To her surprise, his face lit up in sudden delighted amusement. ‘Oh my _gods_ , are you a _woman?_ ’ he crowed, in his normal voice. ‘I thought you were a bloke!’ She blushed again but made no response, cursing him silently as he ran his ridiculous eyes insolently up and down the length of her body. ‘What are _you_ then?’ he went on, grinning. ‘The hired grunt?’

‘I’m the stage manager,’ she replied stiffly, not daring to look at him.

‘Oh, pull the other one,’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re like, twelve.’

‘I’m twenty-four,’ she protested hotly. ‘Not that it’s any of your concern.’

‘Ooo-ooh!’ he taunted. ‘Still a mere slip of a wench. Well, maybe a giant hulk of a wench.’ He paused. ‘So you don’t smoke, huh? Is that why you’re in here, pretending to look busy throwing cars around and suchlike, instead of outside hanging with the cool kids?’

Brienne blushed. It was a little too close to the truth. She was well aware that much of the workplace social bonding, both during productions and among the company staff, took place during the smoke breaks. As one of the few non-smokers, she had become accustomed to being left out of the loop and nobody else even noticing, with the possible exception of Sansa who didn’t smoke either. Now this insufferable man seemed to have put his finger on one of her insecurities in a matter of seconds.

‘You’re in here too,’ she pointed out childishly. _Oh gods, I can’t believe I’m speaking to him as unprofessionally as this_ , she thought. _He’s going to have me fired._

‘Merely a temporary state of affairs, wench,’ he grinned. ‘Now, where can I get a packet of fucking cigarettes in this place? You do _have_ them up here? I mean, they _have_ been invented? Or do you all just chew coal, or some such thing?’

_Then again, professionalism doesn’t seem to be his top concern._

‘There’s a vending machine on the ground floor,’ she spat. ‘And my name’s Brienne, not “wench”.’

‘Right,’ he said, spinning on his heel. ‘See ya, wench. Don’t call me if you need help with the heavy lifting. Not that I imagine you do.’ And with that he was gone.

 _Gods, what an absolutely hateful man_ , she fumed.

All the same, listening to Jaime read – _act_ – had been like poetry. She had always been a sucker for a talented actor – it was one of the things which had fuelled her furious crush on Renly. She’d seen him in the lead in an adaptation of _Anna Karenina_ and been so bowled over by his soulful performance and good looks that she’d waited at the stage door to meet him. He had been so nice and so generous with his time that she’d fallen for him on the spot. She’d begun following his career avidly and even travelled to see him perform, which was how she’d ended up in Winterfell in the first place.

 _Well, at least there’s no danger of_ that _happening this time,_ she thought, relieved, and angrily pushed the chair where Jaime had been sitting a little closer to the table than was strictly necessary, just to annoy him.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. To be natural is such a very difficult pose to keep up.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn discovers why she might have made a terrible mistake, and Brienne's day just keeps getting worse.
> 
> Also, Jaime's ass. That is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so first an apology for the delay in posting this. The next chapter should be up much sooner.
> 
> I had a brief discussion with one commenter last time about my providing a glossary of theatrical terms which appear in the story. She said it wasn't necessary, but for this chapter there are some terms which you really need to know in order to understand, so here goes:
> 
> Flats: the scenery 'walls'.
> 
> Gaffer tape: the British name for duct tape, that staple of backstage crews everywhere.
> 
> Blocking: refers to the movements and positioning of the actors onstage, which is decided by the director during rehearsals. Some directors are micro-managers who plan all this out with military precision and spend the first couple of weeks working on blocking alone. Others allow actors to kind of feel their way as they rehearse, and then fine-tune things later. The ideal approach probably falls somewhere between the two, but I made Catelyn a micro-manager director because I think she would be. But whatever the case, where and how the actors move around the stage is ultimately the director's decision.
> 
> Stage right/ stage left: stage directions are always given from the actor's POV as they look out to the audience. So, if you were looking at the stage from the audience, the side on your right is actually called stage left, and vice versa. Similarly, 'upstage' and 'downstage' refer to the back and the front of the stage respectively.

 

_**To be natural is such a very difficult pose to keep up.** _

 

Brienne was at work on the dot of nine on Monday morning.

She was something of an early bird by nature, and suspected that however long she worked in theatre, she would never quite get used to what seemed to be the entire acting profession’s inability to raise themselves out of bed before midday. And it wasn’t much better with their hangers-on and backstage staff. When she first started working at Winterfell, it had taken Catelyn some considerable persuasion to convince her not to come in at eight. ‘Nobody will be here, Brienne,’ she’d laughed.

Brienne supposed that when someone’s working day regularly began at 5pm and ended around 11pm – a schedule which, she reminded herself with some dismay, was going to become her own for the duration of the run of _Earnest_ \- then it was inevitable that it would eventually play havoc with their body clock. On the other hand, it was possible that the profession simply attracted those who were night owls by nature – those who preferred to live in the shadowy world of make-believe where they could hide their true selves under greasepaint and play out other people’s lives for the entertainment of strangers.

What she loved about theatre was more the mechanics of it – the precision and concentration required to ensure that everything was in its place and everyone was on cue; the challenge of figuring out how an object or a person could get from A to B apparently by magic, or of finding solutions to problems which no audience would ever or should ever suspect had existed.

‘Hey, Brie.’

She was broken from her reverie by Loras appearing beside her desk.

‘Oh, hi, Loras,’ she replied. ‘What’s up?’

Loras brandished a few pieces of paper covered in diagrams and sketches. ‘You see before you my plans for the set,’ he announced. ‘We need to go and run them by Cat, iron out the details, all that stuff. C’mon.’

‘We? As in you and _me_?’ asked Brienne in surprise.

‘Yes, honey, you’re the Stage Manager, remember?’ he smiled. ‘You need to be there. This is the blueprint according to which YOU are going to run all our lives for the next two months, mwhahaha!’ he cackled mischievously.

‘Oh. Right. Of course,’ said Brienne as she stood, embarrassed, wondering if she would ever get used to having this level of responsibility.

Almost two hours later, Brienne emerged from Catelyn’s office bearing her own copy of a much more fleshed-out set design, including measurements for the flats and doorways plus some of the furniture pieces which were in the company storage space, or which Loras had either already managed to source from local antique stores or else planned to build. There were a few finer points still to be decided upon, but more than the bare bones were already in place, and it was certainly enough for Brienne to create a mock-up of the first set layout in the larger rehearsal space, using chairs and gaffer tape, ready for the first proper rehearsal for the show, which was scheduled for 2pm that afternoon.

She spent the next hour or so doing exactly that. Armed with a heavy-duty steel tape measure, she meticulously measured out the space on the floor, placing tape all along the extremities to indicate where the flats and the front of the stage would be, and even carefully measuring the angle at which the doors would open, using a set square, in order to get the position of the entrances exactly right. Then she repeated the process for the furnishings, pacing out the set and putting out chairs to represent the furniture, again marking their position diligently on the floor lest they get accidentally moved by the actors.

She took her time, because getting it right now would mean she wouldn’t have to repeat this every day, and the space could simply be left set up like this until they finished blocking Act One, and the Act Two set had to be created. She was aware that Catelyn would probably make minor changes along the way, but it would be easy enough to incorporate those. The big things, however, such as the position of the doors or the general layout of the furniture, were set in stone and it was essential that the actors get accustomed to working in that space as quickly as possible.

By the time she had finished, her stomach was rumbling, and with one final satisfied glance back at her morning’s work, she decided to go in search of some lunch.

Sansa was just heading down the stairs and waited for her, and the two of them set off together for the cafeteria in the university IT department which backed on to the theatre, which was where the theatre staff – and the actors when they were in rehearsal – tended to eat most days. It was cheap, and the head technician, Sam Tarly - a friendly, slightly chubby chap who, Brienne suspected, wouldn’t know a play if it bit him on the nose – nevertheless seemed more than happy to share his facilities with a bunch of bohemian misfits. He even provided the theatre with a fast and heavily discounted printing service.

She passed a pleasant lunch listening to Sansa prattle on about nothing in particular. She had nothing in common with the girl, but was fond of her nonetheless. Sansa asked a couple of fangirl-ish questions about Jaime, and Brienne was more than happy to disillusion her with the revelation that he was a slob and a jackass.

‘Yes,’ said Sansa musingly. ‘That’s what my mum said. Margaery wasn’t so sure though.’ Brienne was half tempted to ask what she meant, but a glance at her watch told her that it was almost 1.30, and she wanted go and give the rehearsal room a final once-over before the cast started to arrive.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Sansa said, and they walked back together across the car park, through the door of the theatre’s administrative wing, and up the somewhat crumbling stairs to the first floor.

The door to the rehearsal room was open, although Brienne was fairly sure she’d shut it behind her, mindful as she always was of the heating bills. She stepped into the doorway, and was greeted by the sight of a figure crouched in the middle of her mockup set, facing away from her and stooping from a kneeling position, thus presenting her with a view of an exquisitely shaped male backside atop a pair of long and equally shapely male legs. These were clad in pale, worn denim slung low on the hips, and from one of the back pockets there protruded a thin sheaf of papers, folded lengthways so that they flopped over from the pocket in a way which merely highlighted the taut roundness beneath them, while above the waistband of the jeans, a line of black elastic and then a sliver of golden skin were visible. The effect was like something from a soft-porn-ish soda ad, and Brienne found her jaw dropping, her eyes riveted and her face turning scarlet before she could mentally process anything at all.

It was therefore a moment or two before she noticed that what the top half of the figure was doing was slowly but determinedly _picking_ at one of the gaffer tape markers which she had placed on the floor, while muttering under its breath.

It took her another moment to realize that said top half was scruffily dressed in a familiar looking faded red hoodie with what she could now see had once been a lion embossed on the back, and that the person whose ass she had just been ogling like a hormonal schoolgirl was, in fact, Jaime Lannister.

Brienne felt her blush deepen even further, though she wouldn’t have believed it possible.

Sansa emitted a little ‘Oh!’ from somewhere below Brienne’s shoulder.

Jaime stood up straight and turned around, the obstinate piece of black tape now clutched between his fingers. ‘Oh, hi, wench,’ he greeted nonchalantly, then he turned again, and to Brienne’s amazement he began pacing out the set, much as she herself had done earlier when putting it together. Except that what he was doing was apparently now _moving_ all the chairs which she had so carefully aligned.

‘What in the seven hells are you _doing?_ ’ she exploded, shock and embarrassment causing her to forget all protocol. Sansa glanced up at her in such horror, however, and gave her such a sharp jab in the lower ribs, that she quickly corrected herself. ‘Er – I mean, sorry, Mr Lannister, but would you mind telling me what you’re doing please?’ she puffed out.

He stopped in his tracks and looked at her. ‘I liked the first way you asked me better, wench,’ he huffed, sounding almost hurt. Then he grinned and said, ‘Tell you what - how about you try a third way, and I’ll pick my favourite? Say, um, oh I dunno, what about’ – he stood to attention and adopted the barking tones of a drill sergeant – ‘ _’Ere, Lannister, you ‘orrible boy, just what exactly do you think you’re playin’ at? Now drop and give me fifty!_ Hmm? Nothing like a bit of improv to get the old juices flowing, eh?’

He made as though to rub his hands together with glee, realized his mistake too late, and quickly dropped his right arm - the flopping sleeve of which still completely concealed whatever happened at the end of it - and with his left hand attempted to turn the gesture into a kind of weak and totally inappropriate fist-pump. Had she not still been riding a wave of outrage, Brienne might have felt slightly sorry for him.

There was a pause. Jaime bent and started to remove another piece of tape.

‘Look, sorry,’ cried Brienne desperately, ‘but could you, um, could you please stop that?’ He didn’t. ‘What exactly _are_ you doing?’ she repeated almost plaintively.

‘Just making one or two adjustments,’ he responded absently, without looking up.

_‘Adjustments??!’_

‘Yep,’ he said, popping the ‘p’. He glanced up at her now. ‘Nothing for you to worry your pr – your head about, wench,’ he smiled, and returned to his task.

Brienne swallowed hard. ‘Sansa,’ she said in a low, controlled tone, not taking her eyes off Jaime, ‘please could you go and fetch your mother for me?’

Sansa’s head whipped back and forth between the two of them. ‘Ah - right. Sure,’ she agreed in a frightened voice, and scurried off.

Brienne took a couple of deep, calming breaths, then walked fully into the room and called in a commanding voice, ‘Mr Lannister!’

Jaime’s head shot up. He had the grace to look a little startled.

She took another deep breath. ‘I am the Stage Manager on this production. I have spent the best part of this morning setting up this room according to the specifications of the director and the set designer. Anything that happens in here is therefore very much my business. So I will ask you once again, please, to kindly tell me what it is you’re doing, and why. And my name is Brienne. Brienne Tarth.’

He regarded her for a moment, then shrugged. ‘The entrances are in the wrong places.’

_‘What??’_

‘Are you deaf? Or stupid? The doors. They’re in the wrong places. So’s this table here, and the couch needs to be re-angled. Also we’re going to have to place something in this upstage right corner. I dunno, I was thinking maybe a potted fern or something? About, ooh, here? And obviously we can’t have this door here either. Totally wrong. Not going to work.’

Brienne gawped at him, uncomprehending. ‘What do you _mean_ they’re in the wrong places? Has there been some kind of change which I haven’t been told about?’

‘Yes,’ said Jaime lightly. ‘I just changed it. Fairly obviously.’

‘What do you mean _you_ changed it?’

‘ _I_ changed it. Me. I’ve got it all written out here.’ He whipped out the sheaf of papers from his back pocket, which caused Brienne to blush at the sudden recollection of her reaction when she walked into the room.

‘You’ve got _what_ written out?’ she asked, wondering vaguely whether this was some kind of TV prank.

‘My blocking.’

‘Your _blocking?_ ’

‘Gods, wench, you’re starting to sound like a parrot,’ he complained. He huffed a sigh. ‘I went through the script and made notes on where I’m required to move, then figured out how we can fit the set around it. Got my assistant back home to type it out and email it to me. Don’t worry about it.’

Brienne blinked. ‘You can’t just do that. Has this been approved by Catelyn?’

‘Not really the point. I have to do it this way.’

‘Why? And what do you mean, _fit the set around it?_ ’ she repeated, his words suddenly sinking in. _Maybe this is a film acting versus stage acting thing._ _Maybe I should cut him some slack. Explain things._ She took a deep breath. ‘Sorry, but that’s not – um – that’s not how we work, Mr Lannister.’

He drew himself up to his full height, which was an inch or two beneath hers, at a guess, and took a menacing step into her personal space. Brienne was suddenly aware that this was the first time she’d actually seen him close up. At this distance, the shape of his face was much more obvious, the angled planes of his cheekbones and strong nose standing out sharply above his beard. His nostrils were flared, his eyes shooting sparks. The overall effect was quite striking.

‘I’m Jaime fucking Lannister, I shall do whatever I please,’ he growled fiercely. ‘I’ll thank you not to tell me my craft, Miss, um…?’

‘Tarth,’ she replied icily, standing her ground and meeting his gaze. ‘And I’ll thank you not to tell me mine. The director blocks the show, not the actors. And _my_ job is to ensure that the director’s instructions are carried out to the letter, barring absolute technical impossibility, and even then my brief is to find a solution which makes it possible. However, that does not stretch to allowing actors to reposition parts of the set at will.’

They were almost nose to nose, and Brienne could tell her face was bright red, though whether it was from anger or from shock at the unexpected proximity, she couldn’t tell.

‘What’s going on here?’ said Catelyn’s voice from the doorway. ‘Brienne?’

With one final glare at Brienne, Jaime stalked past her and out of the room, shoving his sheaf of notes into Catelyn’s hand as he passed.

‘Here,’ he said gruffly, ‘read this. I’m going for a smoke. Or six.’

 

**************************************

 

‘But – but that’s _crazy_ ,’ spluttered Brienne.

‘I know,’ said Catelyn, throwing up her hands. ‘But that’s what he’s saying.’

‘I’m texting Loras,’ Brienne said, shaking her head as she did so. She glanced at her watch. ‘The others will be here soon. What are we going to do?’

‘Let’s go to my office. Tell Loras to meet us there. The rest of the cast will just have to wait.’

They walked wordlessly along the corridor to Catelyn’s office. Catelyn plonked herself down in her chair and started tapping keys angrily. ‘I’m going to send that brother of his a strongly worded message,’ she growled. ‘He must have known about this.’

‘Known about what?’ said Loras, poking his head round the door.

‘Oh, Loras, come in,’ said Catelyn agitatedly. ‘We – it’s – oh, you tell him, Brienne. I’m just beyond words, for the moment.’

Brienne breathed in. ‘It’s Jaime Lannister. He, um, wants to redesign the set.’

Loras laughed out loud. ‘Oh, that’s hysterical. Why?’

Brienne shifted uncomfortably. ‘He says he can only ever enter from stage left and exit stage right.’

Catelyn raised an eyebrow. ‘And the other part, Brienne. Don’t forget the best bit.’

‘And, um, only ever stand stage left. If he has to move, he’ll only go upstage, and if he has to sit or stand in the centre, he wants his right side shielded from the audience’s view at all times by some prop or item of scenery.’

Catelyn looked at her pointedly.

‘And he’s blocked out all of his moves himself. For the whole show,’ Brienne finished with a helpless shrug.

‘You see?’ cried Catelyn to Loras, gesturing wildly. ‘You see?’

Loras chuckled and pushed his hands down into his pockets. ‘Uh-huh,’ he nodded. ‘Yes, I do see. It’s _Spot the Stump.’_

 _‘Spot the Stump?’_ repeated Catelyn in utter bewilderment.

‘Yup.’ Loras laughed again. ‘Haven’t you seen any of his films since the, um, y’know?’ he pulled his sweater cuff down over his right hand and faked a kind of hunchback move.

‘No,’ said Catelyn ominously. ‘I can’t say I have.’

‘Well, do yourself a favour, sweetie - rent one, just for a laugh. Apparently he’s completely obsessed about nobody ever seeing that his hand’s missing. But at the same time he refuses to wear a false one.’ He shrugged. ‘Total denial, I guess. So from what I understand, he’s had it written into all his contracts that it has to be disguised or faked somehow, like all the time, though I don’t see how that’s even _possible_. So anyway, if you watch his latest films, he’s always either in close-up or super long-shot, and there’s all this really crazy editing and strange camera angles, just to keep his fucking arm out of shot. Plus lots of really obvious use of hand doubles or bad CGI.’

‘That’s so sad,’ said Brienne.

‘It’s kind of cringeworthy to watch, actually,’ said Loras. ‘Plus, once you _know_ , it’s like, you _have to_ look, you know what I mean? If he didn’t tie himself in knots trying to hide it then I don’t think anyone would care, but the way it is, it’s literally the _only_ thing you can look at. So anyway, one time Ren and I were round at Willas’s and one of these films came on, and we turned it into a drinking game. Spot the Stump. I think it was a shot every time there was some blatant CGI, then a double for something, can’t remember what - but you had to do five in a row if you got a split-second glimpse of his actual stump where they didn’t cut away quite quickly enough.’

‘Loras’, said Brienne reproachfully. ‘That’s kind of mean.’

Loras laughed. ‘Oh come on Brie, he brings it on himself! Anyway we were only watching a film. It’s not like we were laughing in his face.’

‘Even so,’ said Brienne.

‘So what you’re telling me,’ said Catelyn, ‘is that he actually wants to continue this ridiculous charade _on stage?_ ’

‘Sounds like it to me,’ said Loras. ‘Only standing stage left? Hiding behind the scenery?’

‘But surely he realizes that’s simply impossible in a live production? That I don’t possess the ability to CGI him a hand live on stage?’

‘Guess not,’ said Loras dryly with a shrug. He hesitated. ‘To be fair, Ren did try to warn you.’

‘He _did?_ ’

Loras looked uncomfortable. ‘Yeah, Cat. Last week. But you, um, seemed pretty determined to have Lannister in the show, so I assumed that you knew, and that maybe you’d discussed it, and he’d either come to his senses, or was at least going to be sensible about it for the purposes of a stage show.’

Catelyn collapsed back into her chair, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘Well, now that I think about it, his brother did say somethingon the phone to the effect that Jaime was, um, _sensitive_ about it, and that we should try not to make it too obvious, or something like that. But I didn’t really pay it too much attention. I was thinking that you could maybe, I don’t know, just make his right jacket sleeve a little longer? To be honest, I automatically assumed he’d have a prosthetic. But he clearly doesn’t, you can tell.’ There was a pause, then her face fell. ‘Oh, by the Seven. That’s why he’s here, isn’t it? That’s why Tyrion said his career needed a boost?’

Loras grimaced. ‘And do you remember what _I_ said, Cat? I said his career needed to be put out of its misery.’ He shrugged sympathetically. ‘Word has it, most if not all of the major studios now refuse to work with him any more, because making a movie with him costs twice as much as with anyone else, what with all the CGI and extra editing time. And with him being a complete asshole about it, _obviously_. I mean, the guy clearly has _issues_.’ He gave it air quotes. ‘D’you know he once punched a reporter in the face, just for asking him how he was feeling?’

Catelyn looked appalled. ‘So when Tyrion said this was his last hope…’ she began bleakly, her pennies dropping one by one.

‘Well, I don’t know what _that’s_ about, I must admit,’ said Loras. ‘Whether he’s really trying to revive his career - in which case, no offence, sweetie, but this seems like the weirdest choice _ever_ \- or whether it’s a subtle way of letting him know he’s being put out to pasture, I’ve no idea. He certainly doesn’t strike me as the type to go quietly. So maybe they’re hoping he’ll make such a laughing stock of himself with his onstage antics that he’ll finally realize it’s over. I think his dad wants him to take over the production company, from what I read.’

‘But he’s going to make a laughing stock of _us!_ ’ cried Catelyn. She banged her head on the desk. ‘How did this become my life, Brienne? How?’ She raised her eyes pleadingly.

‘I hate to ask this,’ said Brienne hesitantly, ‘but do we really have to have him in the show? I mean, I feel bad for him and everything, but he _does_ seem kind of impossible to work with. And it’s only been two days!’

Catelyn groaned and covered her face with her hands. ‘Everything’s signed. The publicity has gone out. And gods know I couldn’t find anybody else for the part, anyway. And he’s so _good_ , dammit! I’ve literally dreamed of working with someone that talented, for years!’

Brienne shot a quick glance at Loras to see whether he would leap to Renly’s defence, as her instincts screamed at her to do, but Loras was silent, and Brienne was silently obliged to admit to herself that talented though Renly was, Jaime had outshone him at the read-through by some considerable margin.

Catelyn was still talking, in the same despairing tone. ‘He’d bring the house down, if only he’d cooperate and stop acting like a spoilt child. Packed houses, every night! Money troubles, gone!’ She dropped her head back to the desk and groaned again.

‘I think that’s a “Yes, we do have to have him in the show”, Brie,’ put in Loras with a rueful smirk.

‘So what are we going to do?’ asked Brienne.

Catelyn sat up, ran her hands wildly through her hair a few times, and sniffed loudly. ‘Well,’ she said finally, ‘there’s only one thing we can do, unfortunately. We’re going to have to go along with it.’

 _‘What?!’_ they exclaimed in unison.

‘Oh, I don’t mean let him dictate _all_ of his own blocking. That would simply be rolling over in defeat, and I don’t believe in doing that. But I promised him the other day that we wouldn’t be insensitive to his, um, disability, and it’s only fair that I should honour that promise. Plus there’s the minor fact that since we’re being paid to have him here, I don’t have a lot of choice in the matter,’ she added grimly. She looked from one to the other.

‘So,’ she continued, ‘if we need to change things around so that his entrances are all stage left and we keep him from turning his right side to the audience, then that is what we shall do. I’m sorry, I know you worked hard on the set. Both of you. But it’s early days. Rehearsals haven’t even started, so if there was ever a time to change it, it’s now. We can do it. We’re all professionals.’

‘Well – most of us,’ grimaced Loras. ‘But what about the other actors? Because I’ve gotta say, Cat, if you’re going to ask me to keep this quiet from Ren, I really don’t’ -

Catelyn sighed. ‘No, it’s all right, Loras. The other actors will have to be in the loop. But, for my sake, could you do me a favour and at least, ah, play it down a little? So it doesn’t seem like such a big deal? Please? You know how they get if they think someone’s getting special treatment, and Renly’s furious enough with me as it is.’

Loras regarded her for a moment and then eventually slumped his shoulders in defeat. ‘Well, all right, Cat,’ he sighed. ‘For you, okay? But I can’t get it ready for this afternoon. Or rather, ten minutes ago,’ he corrected with a grimace at his phone.

‘Fine,’ said Catelyn. ‘We’ll just work on characterization today, and begin the blocking – tomorrow?’

‘Wednesday,’ said Loras firmly. ‘At the earliest. You’re asking for a total redesign, love. Plus, how am I supposed to know when and where he needs to hide behind a desk? I can’t believe I’m even doing this,’ he added under his breath.

Catelyn thought for a second. ‘Brienne will tell you,’ she announced finally.

‘What? How am _I_ supposed to know?’ exclaimed Brienne, startled.

‘Because you are going to sit down with Mr Lannister and work through his – _list of demands_ ’ – she picked up Jaime’s notes and waved them contemptuously – ‘and attempt to reach some sort of compromise solution between what _he_ _wants_ to do and what I need him to do. I don’t have time to completely revise all the blocking which I’ve planned out, so you need to put the two alongside each other and see which of my moves we can retain, and which will need to be adjusted. If you do it scene by scene, prior to the blocking rehearsal, it shouldn’t be too unmanageable. It might set us back a few days, nothing more. Maybe a week at most, but since Jaime’s off book already, that should help to balance out the schedule.’

Brienne stared at her aghast. ‘Why do _I_ have to do it? I’m pretty sure he hates me.’

Catelyn regarded her sternly. ‘Because I know you’ll have Winterfell’s best interests at heart. Besides, _I_ certainly have no intention of sitting alone in a room with him. He’d be missing more than a hand by the time I’d finished with him, I can tell you. You, however, have the patience of a septa, Brienne. But, based on what I saw back there, you also seem to be capable of standing up to him and not taking any of his nonsense. Which is precisely the combination required for dealing with such people.’ She smiled. ‘Whether he likes you or not is immaterial. You just have to convince him to trust you.’

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I confess I have no idea how a stage manager actually goes about setting up a rehearsal room. I expect most of them, especially for early rehearsals, would just set out chairs in a rough approximation of the set and wouldn't be as precise about it as Brienne is here. But, it's Brienne. She's got to get it right.


	4. ‘You always want to argue about things’. ‘That is exactly what things were originally made for.’

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee, car parks and an unexpected discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all JB, with a walk-on appearance by Olenna and Ygritte. 
> 
> Just so you know, my Ygritte talks like Show!Ygritte. Because that's the accent of my heart and I can't hear her voice any other way.

_**‘You always want to argue about things’. ‘That is exactly what things were originally made for.’** _

 

‘ _SOMEONE’_ – boomed Jaime, slamming open the cafeteria door with a menacing glare and a voice befitting a pantomime villain – ‘is in _my_ bloody _parking space!_ ’

 _Can’t he just open a door and walk into a room like a normal person?_ thought Brienne. She was huddled at a corner table with Olenna, while waiting for Jaime so that they could begin their review of his blocking as Catelyn had instructed.

To say that Brienne wasn’t looking forward to it might have been the understatement of the century. At least at that hour of the morning, just before ten-thirty, the students were all in class and they had the place to themselves.

 _And at least he’s on time today,_ she reflected grudgingly. He was still wearing the same worn jeans as the previous day, but had swapped his red hoodie for a gigantic, threadbare green sweater which still hid his arm and more or less everything else, though she couldn’t help observing that the colour seemed to match his eyes exactly.

It was only then that she became aware that both he and Olenna were staring at her expectantly.

 _Oh, this must be part of my remit too,_ she realized miserably. _Handle the actors. Right._

She turned to him and attempted a placatory smile.

‘What parking space is that, Mr Lannister?’ she asked, with as much patience as she could muster.

‘Ah, the one where I’ve been _parking_ ,’ he replied, his voice dripping sarcasm. ‘Every day. Next to the front door? Well, almost. That little blue car was nearest to the door again this morning. So if you could get that one moved too, all the better.’

Brienne gaped at him, flabbergasted. ‘That’s Catelyn’s car.’

‘Oh.’ He scrunched up his face in apparent thought for a second. ‘All right, I guess she can stay. So where’s my space?’

‘You – you don’t _have_ a parking space,’ she said at last.

He regarded her as though she’d sprouted a second head.

‘Why not?’ he demanded.

She almost laughed at the ridiculousness of what he was suggesting, and had to remind herself that he must be accustomed to a very different setup.

‘Mr Lannister,’ she began, ‘I’m sorry, but this isn’t a film set. We’re a small theatre. We share a car park with the university IT department here. The only member of our staff who gets their own designated space is Catelyn. I’m afraid we can’t reserve parking spaces for actors, whoever – um, I mean, _how_ ever’ – she had been going to say ‘whoever they are’ but suddenly decided that sounded rather cheeky. _However famous they are? However important they think they are? However loud they yell?_ ‘Um, however large their role,’ she settled for, finally, with a gulp.

It was Jaime’s turn to gawp. ‘So what do you suggest I do then?’

‘I caught the bus, dear,’ said Olenna mildly, raising her head briefly from her script. ‘It was most invigorating. One meets such interesting people.’

Jaime blinked at her and then turned a challenging eye back on Brienne, head tilted.

‘Well, um,’ said Brienne, a little uncertain as to how to handle this. ‘Where are you staying?’

‘Winterfell Towers,’ he replied, with a hint of defensiveness.

Brienne’s jaw actually dropped. Winterfell Towers was the most exclusive – well, the only - five-star hotel in town. It also happened to be only about five hundred yards away from the front door of the theatre.

‘But – but – that’s just on the corner!’ she protested.

Jaime’s eyebrows arched. ‘ _So?_ ’

Brienne heard a sound escape from her own mouth which was halfway between a huff of frustration and a snort of laughter.

‘So – you could _walk!_ ’

How was it that every time they crossed paths, her tongue seemed to develop a will of its own and all propriety was forgotten? Gods, he was just so _infuriating._

‘Don’t be _insane_ , wench,’ he sneered.

Brienne frowned. Offensive though she found his nickname for her, its use was the first indication which he’d given since entering the room that he had the slightest recollection as to who she was.

‘Why not?’ she retorted, in an echo of his earlier tone.

‘Well – for starters’ – he spluttered – ‘um – I’m a celebrity. I might get mobbed if I walk down the street.’

‘Unlikely, dear,’ said Olenna, casting a meaningful eye over his attire and general state of dishevelment.

Jaime clearly caught her implication and began to bristle, at which Olenna immediately smiled sweetly and added in a mollifying tone, ‘I mean to say, in Winterfell. The people up here are _far_ too well-behaved for that sort of thing.’ She paused for the briefest moment. ‘Also, it’s rather cold, don’t you think? That tends to deter autograph-hunters, I usually find. It’s the main reason I settled in Highgarden. I simply can’t _bear_ not being the centre of attention, you see.’ She arched an eyebrow and gave a cat-like smile.

Jaime looked down, ground his jaw and muttered a long and mostly unintelligible tirade, though Brienne was fairly certain she caught the words ‘Tyrell’ and ‘witch’ and ‘hear _me_ roar’.

Finally he growled sullenly, ‘Well, anyway I’ve got my driver here, so’ –

‘Wait,’ interrupted Brienne, ‘you have a _driver?_ What do you need a parking space for if you’ve got a driver?’

He looked at her incredulously. ‘Drivers have cars, wench. It’s kind of part of the job description, you know? And cars need to be parked.’

 _Is he actually dimwitted or is he being deliberately obtuse?_ she wondered.

‘Yes, but – they can also drive away again and come back later!’ she exclaimed in utter exasperation, unable to prevent herself from rolling her eyes. ‘Can’t you just send him a text message’ – _Dyslexic. No right hand._ ‘Um – I mean call him, when you’re ready to go?’

There was a long, portentous pause. Brienne flinched a little, steeling herself for an explosive or sarcastic response. Jaime rubbed the toe of his dirty sneaker back and forth across the floor.

‘Where would he go?’ he grunted at last. ‘It’s not like there’s anything to _do_. We’re in the arse-end of nowhere.’

‘No,’ announced Ygritte, joining them at the table without preamble. ‘Trust me, _I know_ the arse-end of nowhere, and this ain’t it. This is fuckin’ Braavos compared to where I come from.’ She sat down. ‘Where would who go?’

‘Mr Lannister’s driver,’ said Brienne.

‘What’s he like to do?’ Ygritte asked Jaime.

‘How the hell would I know?’ he retorted.

‘Well, I dunno, in a radical move you could, y’know, talk to him?’ suggested Ygritte, sounding not unfriendly about it. ‘There’s tons to do here, actually. I went round the museum and the ruined castle at the weekend. It were great. Or if that’s not his thing, there’s a kind of a mall place not too far away, got a cinema and a bowling alley, stuff like that.’ She gave Jaime a straightforward, friendly smile and then turned to Brienne as though wanting her to back her up.

‘Um, that’s right,’ confirmed Brienne, although in actuality her experience of cinemas or bowling alleys was woefully limited. She’d been to the museum, but she really preferred to spend her weekends getting out of town to go hiking in the hills or exploring the local cycle paths. The countryside was wild and beautiful - a million miles from the vivid landscape of Tarth, but still compelling. Being alone with nature was one of the best ways she had found of passing the sometimes endless-seeming weekend hours, when there was no show on a Saturday to keep her mind occupied. It certainly beat sitting in her small apartment longing for it to be Monday again, just so that she could have some company.

‘A museum? Ooh, hold me back!’ cried Jaime facetiously. He turned suddenly to Brienne. ‘What about you, wench? What do you do in your spare time? Apprehend thugs? Hurl goats across valleys? Few rounds in the ring with a large Dothraki?’ He danced from one foot to the other, his lone fist raised in imitation of a boxing stance, which she had to admit looked pathetically comical.

Then he stopped and grinned evilly at her. ‘Or do you have some improbably large swain who keeps you otherwise occupied _, if you know what I mean?_ I’m picturing some sort of farmhand. Someone who can wrestle cattle.’

Brienne clenched her teeth and willed herself not to respond or cry. She wasn’t sure what was worse – the fact that he’d apparently just compared her to a cow, or that he seemed to have some sort of clairvoyant hotline to her innermost insecurities.

‘What’s he called, this driver of yours, anyway?’ asked Ygritte, ignoring Jaime’s outburst.

‘What?’ he muttered distractedly. ‘Oh. Jon. Jon Snow. Think he’s from round these parts originally, actually. Doesn’t say much though.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Oh. He might like video games. Yes, I definitely remember a conversation once about World of Warcraft.’

Ygritte snorted. ‘Well, obviously then, he knows nothing. You put this Jon Snow on to me. I’ll sort him out, don’t you worry.’

Jaime’s lips twitched, his face starting to form itself into what looked like the beginnings of a lewd comeback, so Brienne decided it was time to take charge.

‘Ah, right, so,’ she said, standing up abruptly, and was gratified to see Jaime take an involuntary half step backwards at finding her suddenly on a level with him. _I suppose being tall is useful for something_ , she reflected bitterly. ‘Shall we get going, Mr Lannister? I’m assuming you don’t want to do this in here? Feel free to bring a take-out though. I know I need caffeine,’ and with that she strode past him to the counter.

She was just paying for her takeout latte when he materialized beside her, eyeing both her and the menu with apparent amusement.

‘Is that all you’re getting, wench?’ he asked. ‘Not tempted by the Death by Chocolate cake?’

_Is he calling me fat now?_

She whirled on him, but he elbowed her aside and leaned forward, grinning at the assistant behind the counter, whose name-tag read ‘Gilly’, and said in a stage whisper, ‘She’s only getting the skinny latte to impress me.’

‘It’s not a _skinny_ latte,’ protested Brienne furiously. ‘And why on earth’ –

Jaime straightened up. ‘Two slices of Death by Chocolate,’ he announced authoritatively. ‘To go. And a quadruple espresso for me. I’m not used to this crack-of-dawn regime.’ He leaned again towards a very startled-looking Gilly and confided in the same stage whisper as before, ‘It’s a punishment, you see. It seems I’ve been a very, very naughty boy.’ He winked exaggeratedly.

Gilly shot a terrified look at Brienne, who shrugged helplessly.

‘Right. Yes, ser,’ Gilly whispered, and proceeded to complete Jaime’s order while he watched, arms folded. Finally she proffered the takeout cup and a paper bag containing the cakes.

Jaime pulled his face into the most pitiful expression imaginable, and waved his right sleeve forlornly. Gilly’s mouth fell open in an expression of horrified embarrassment.

Brienne rolled her eyes and reached for the bag with one hand while opening her purse with the other, but Jaime had already produced a ridiculously large denomination note from his jeans pocket and thrown it down onto the counter. Brienne scrabbled to pick up his change, which he seemed quite ready to walk away without, and balanced the two cups and the bag between her cold hands as she followed him.

‘Ladies,’ Jaime called to Olenna and Ygritte as he stepped out through the door, ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to manage to run lines without me for a little while. I’ve got my remedial class.’ He jerked his head in Brienne’s direction. ‘Or is it detention?’ he asked her thoughtfully. ‘I should warn you though, I won’t be able to write _I must not move the scenery_ a hundred times on the blackboard.’

Brienne followed, and then kicked the door closed behind her with a slam which Jaime himself might have been proud of, and faced him angrily in the cold of the car park.

‘You’re doing this on purpose!’ she spat. She was unable to avoid feeling a slight surge of relief, however, that at least it seemed that there was going to be no pretense about why they were having these extra meetings. Given his paranoia about revealing his lack of a hand to the public, she had been rather afraid that she was going to be expected to tackle the question of his blocking without ever being able to mention the reason.

‘Doing what?’ he asked innocently.

‘This – this – _routine!_ With the coffee, and the whole – _sleeve_ thing! I _know_ you’re just trying to prove a point, and it’s really – not necessary.’ She puffed hard, aware that her face was livid red.

His eyes narrowed. ‘ _Sleeve thing_ , wench? Really? That’s the phrase you’re going with?’

Brienne tried with difficulty to calm her breathing, wishing fervently that her hands weren’t full of coffee so that she could run them through her hair.

‘Look,’ she began, ‘Contrary to what you seem to think, this isn’t some kind of punishment for what happened yesterday. Well, maybe a punishment for _me,_ ’ she couldn’t help adding under her breath.

Jaime’s eyebrows shot up, and an expression which looked to be equal parts affront and amusement crossed his features.

Brienne took another deep breath. ‘I’m doing this for the good of the show,’ she said resolutely. ‘And for Catelyn. That’s my job.’

He snorted. ‘And there I was thinking you were helping me out of the goodness of your heart.’

Brienne swallowed hard. It was true that she felt saddened by the gross unfairness of whatever it was that had caused his disability, but the fact was that the man seemed to suffer from a total humility bypass and to delight in making life miserable for everyone around him.

‘I – I do – I mean – I’m not – _unsympathetic_. But - we’re all in this together, you know?’ she stammered in a desperate appeal. ‘It’s about teamwork, isn’t it? Theatre? So I think we just all need to – to work together, you know, to, um, find a – _solution_ that works for everyone.’

Cursing the coffee cups yet again, she held out his espresso to him – taking care to direct it firmly towards his left hand - with a smile which she hoped made it look like all peace offering and not half desperation to be rid of the annoying, scalding thing.

Jaime stared at it for a few seconds, then looked up at her face, and finally reached out and took the cup.

She smiled again. He didn’t, but his eyes looked less hostile and more curious. Finally, with a curt nod, he started to walk in the direction of the theatre.

Brienne took a relieved sip of coffee and caught up with him in a couple of long strides.

‘So _is_ there a farmhand?’ Jaime demanded suddenly in a disconcertingly conversational tone.

‘What?’ she asked warily.

‘A farmhand. Keeping you warm and busy at weekends? I ask merely for information,’ he added with a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows, quoting one of Renly’s lines from the play.

Brienne hesitated in her steps, already seething with inward dread at whatever might be coming next. She decided, however, that having achieved what appeared to be an extremely tenuous truce, the best way for her to shut down this particular line of questioning was to say as little as possible.

‘No,’ she replied with finality. ‘There isn’t.’

To her dismay, he lengthened his stride easily to overtake her, then turned and walked backwards in front of her. He looked her up and down appraisingly.

‘Farm _girl?_ ’ he suggested, with what sounded like genuine curiosity.

Brienne scowled and kept on walking, avoiding his eye. _‘No.’_

He sipped his coffee and continued assessing her. ‘So what’s the problem? Couldn’t find anyone strong enough to take you on, eh? Not even up here, in the wild, untamed North?’ There was the shortest of beats before he added with a wicked grin, ‘I’m strong enough.’

Death by Chocolate was starting to sound really, really good. Though whose death, she wouldn’t have liked to say at that point.

She froze in her tracks, jaw clenched.

_‘Not. Interested.’_

She used a body swerve to duck around him and focused on the theatre door a few yards ahead, trying in vain to banish the image of his denim-clad behind which had appeared in her mind’s eye.

He dropped back into step beside her and chuckled. ‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, wench,’ he said cheerfully as she pulled open the door.

She was unable to prevent her eyes from flickering over the breadth of his shoulders under his sweater, and the slight curl of a bicep visible in the better-fitting left sleeve as he held his coffee cup. She swallowed. _What is WRONG with me?_ she thought. _He’s an asshole._

To Brienne’s surprise, Jaime tossed his empty paper cup to the ground, held the door open with his foot and waved her through ahead of him with a mock chivalrous bow. She rolled her eyes but decided it wasn’t worth the fight and went through without a word, highly conscious of him watching her the whole time as she walked up the stairs in front of him.

Eventually they reached the small rehearsal room, which was furnished with tables and chairs and was used for readings, meetings and one-on-one rehearsal time. She busied herself with switching on lights and closing blinds and doing anything except look at Jaime. He watched her for a moment or two, then with a sigh he flung himself down in a chair right in front of her, somehow all languid, leonine grace despite his ragged appearance.

Brienne hesitated, then took the seat opposite him, and reached into her bag for her annotated copies of his notes and Loras’s set designs. Jaime eyed them suspiciously, then leant back, closed his eyes and let out another, ultra-dramatic sigh, running his hand through his lanky hair.

‘I still don’t see,’ he intoned in a pained voice, ‘ _why_ Catelyn couldn’t do this. It’s like she’s deliberately setting out to humiliate me. Hardly professional of her,’ he added with a snort.

Brienne frowned. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I don’t understand. How is _Catelyn_ humiliating you? She’s the one trying to accommodate your, um, _requests._ I think she’s being very understanding, actually.’

Jaime’s eyes opened and regarded her in a long, slow look of disbelieving contempt.

‘She’s humiliating me, _wench_ , by sending _you_ in to do her dirty work for her. I mean, _no offence’_ – he drawled, in a tone which implied the exact opposite – ‘but I’m a major star with more than twenty years in the business. I just fail to see how it can possibly be _productive_ for me to discuss this with someone so completely lacking in experience.’

Brienne leaped to her feet in indignation.

‘Okay, that’s it!’ she shouted furiously. ‘I don’t have to put up with this!’ She began to gather her papers. ‘I’ll have you know, _Mr Lannister_ ,’ she continued through clenched teeth, unable to stop herself now, ‘that I have been working backstage since I was eight years old. I know my way around a stage better than most actors, and I do not have to listen to insults from someone whose acting career seems to be a nothing but a long litany of - unspeakable acts.’

‘Eight?!’ he sneered back, jumping up, but apparently choosing - to her relief - to ignore the final barb which had fallen from her lips unbidden. ‘That’s child slavery! Where is it you’re from? Meereen?’

‘I’m from _Tarth!_ ’ she yelled. ‘My name is _Brienne_ _Tarth._ As I have now told you _several times!_ I would have thought that even _you_ could have worked out the connection by now. My father ran a theatre company there, not that you would care. I used to help him out, from the ages of eight to fourteen. It taught me everything I know, which is more, I suspect, than you will ever know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m – _What is it?_ ’

For the anger on his face had entirely disappeared and he had fixed her with a wide-eyed green stare whose meaning she couldn’t decipher.

 _‘Tarth?’_ he repeated in a breathy voice, a slow, incredulous smile starting to curl his lips. He rubbed his neck, then bit his bottom lip almost shyly in a way which caught Brienne’s attention unexpectedly. ‘You – you’re not by any chance related to _Selwyn_ Tarth? The Evenfall Collective? Experimental theatre company from the 80s?’

Brienne blinked hard. ‘Yes. He’s my dad.’

Jaime’s face lit up like the sun. ‘Your _dad??_ Selwyn Tarth is your _father?!_ ’

‘Um, yeah,’ she responded, blushing, completely thrown by his reaction. ‘Why, do you - know him, or something?’ Though she would have thought her dad would have mentioned a minor matter like knowing Jaime Lannister.

‘No, but – oh my gods, this is _incredible!_ ’ Jaime exclaimed, running a hand through his hair excitedly. He was transformed, practically bouncing on his feet. He beamed at her.

‘You may not believe this, Brienne’ – she blinked again at his sudden and unexpected use of her name - ‘but I was actually kind of obsessed with your dad’s theatre company when I was a teenager. I had this teacher, Arthur Dayne – he was just inspirational, he was really the guy that made me want to become an actor – and he used to rave constantly about the Evenfall Collective. Showed us all the videos - all those that exist, anyway. Multiple times. Gods, those guys did some of the most groundbreaking work of the past fifty years!’

He was practically whooping with delight. Brienne wondered if she’d stepped into a parallel universe.

‘I wish I’d got to see some of it in person, but I was too young,’ Jaime continued wistfully. ‘My father would never have approved of a _Lannister_ gallivanting off to some obscure island to watch avant-garde theatre. But’ – he looked slightly embarrassed - ‘I have to confess, after Mr Dayne, Selwyn Tarth was kind of my hero when I was in drama school. My all-time favourite stage director,’ he admitted, laughing. He shook his head merrily. ‘Gods, I haven’t thought about that stuff in _years!_ ’

There was the longest, and weirdest, pause yet.

‘Um, I, um – didn’t picture you as a fan of experimental theatre,’ stuttered Brienne tentatively at last.

‘Are you _kidding_ me?!’ he cried joyfully. ‘I _love_ all that stuff! Well, I mean, I used to.’ His face was wildly alive, almost transfigured. ‘And you _worked_ there?’ he added in an awed voice, finally seeming to drag himself out of whatever past his memory had taken him to.

Brienne flushed. ‘Helped out,’ she corrected shyly. ‘I was very young.’

He grinned, almost boyishly, his head tilted. ‘A child prodigy, eh?’

She found herself returning his smile, although her blush deepened. ‘Hardly.’

His mischievous look returned. ‘Oh, I thought it taught you all you know, which is more than I’ll ever know?’ he teased, biting his lip again in that distracting way.

She blushed even more. _Gods, my face must look like a beetroot by now,_ she thought. They were still standing facing each other awkwardly across the table.

‘Look, Mr Lannister, I’m really sorry I said those things,’ she said, suddenly unable to meet his piercing gaze. ‘But you _were_ kind of, um’ –

‘A dick?’ he suggested. ‘Yeah. That’s just my M.O. You shouldn’t let it get to you. Ninety-nine percent of what comes out of my mouth is utter bullshit, you know.’ He sniggered a little. ‘I don’t usually have to _explain_ that to people.’

Brienne wasn’t sure whether he’d just apologized or accused her of being stupid again.

‘So whatever became of those Evenfall guys?’ Jaime asked curiously. ‘I always wanted to go over there, act in one of their shows. I mean, they were getting some pretty big names towards the end, right? It was one of my ambitions after I graduated. Seriously, I’d have given my right – ah - my back teeth,’ he corrected in a subdued tone, his gaze dropping to his feet.

Brienne could feel the abrupt shift in his mood almost physically, like a change in the air. Jaime toed the floor. ‘But by the time I’d finished drama school, I had studios breathing down my neck day and night, so it was never going to happen.’ He looked up at her again. ‘But I did always wonder what happened to Evenfall? Is it still going?’

Brienne hesitated. She didn’t feel like telling him how her father had been devastated by the deaths of her mother and brother when she was fourteen, and hadn’t had the heart to continue with the theatre company.

‘Dad – um – retired. You know,’ she said, feeling another blush creeping up as it always did when she tried to be economical with the truth. ‘He still directs a show every summer for the Tarth Festival though,’ she added brightly.

‘There’s a Tarth Festival?’

‘Yes. I doubt you’d have heard about it in King’s Landing. It’s a local arts thing. Fairly small, but Dad likes to take theatre to the community. Try to open up the minds of people who’d never normally be interested. That’s one of his passions. You know?’

‘Yes,’ said Jaime seriously. ‘I know.’

 _Okay, this was too weird._ ‘Yeah, so, I um, always try to make it home for that, if I can,’ she finished lamely, rather wanting the conversation to end.

Jaime paused and chewed his lip again for a second. ‘Oh. Well, um’ – he said slowly, staring at her, ‘I’d, um – I’ll have to see if I can catch that, some time.’

‘Um – okay,’ said Brienne, trying hard not to smile at the absurdity of the idea of Jaime Lannister turning up on her island in his chauffeur-driven limousine – _no, he’d probably fly in by private jet_ , she thought – and asking her ageing dad for his autograph or something.

There was another one of the pregnant silences that seemed to fill rooms whenever Jaime was there.

Eventually, and very pointedly, Jaime sat down. Brienne followed suit and for a moment they simply stared at each other across the table. Jaime folded his arms.

‘All right then,’ he said at last in a voice alive with challenge, ‘Miss Child-Prodigy-Expert-Stage-Manager. Show me what you got.’

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Jon Snow wasn't originally going to be Jaime's driver. He was going to be a Winterfell resident character, with Jaime's driver being Peck or one of the usual suspects. But then Ygritte walked into that scene and it just happened. I'm not sorry, because it actually makes for a better plot point later on.
> 
> Btw, if anyone's worried that JB have stopped fighting already - they haven't. :-)


	5. I could deny it if I liked. I could deny anything if I liked.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is girl talk. Sort of. 
> 
> Brienne is frustrated, then confused, then a bit of both. 
> 
> Jaime is... Jaime. 
> 
> Margaery ships it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the slight hiatus. Christmas, school holidays, a guest staying in the room where my computer is - the usual.
> 
> In this chapter (and some later ones), characters express some strong and not very complimentary views about the press and the media. These are in no way intended as either universal, or representative of my own views. I realise that there may well be readers here who work in journalism and related fields, and please be assured that no slur is intended on your profession. I have based my characterization (if that's the right word) of the Westerosi press in this story - or rather, specifically the KL tabloids, or those sections of them which deal in celebrity gossip - on the seedier elements of the British tabloid press. I'm British, so this is what I grew up with, and the misdeeds of some of these publications are well documented. This, however, is fiction, and in as far as this story needed a 'villain' (and in as far as it inevitably owes something to the movie 'Notting Hill', in which the British press are similarly portrayed), I'm afraid the villain of this piece is the tabloid press. Once again, please, I don't mean or wish to offend anyone by this. It's a fictional modern Westeros, and no similarity to real persons... you know the rest.
> 
> 'FleaBottom' is, of course, the Westerosi 'EastEnders.' I couldn't resist.

 

_**I could deny it if I liked. I could deny anything if I liked.** _

****

‘He’s going to be the death of me. If I don’t kill him first, that is.’

Brienne collapsed with a sigh into the seat next to Sansa, and sank her head onto her arms. Across the table, Margaery and Ygritte exchanged amused glances.

‘What happened?’ asked Sansa in a concerned tone.

It was an unseasonably sunny day, and the four young women were sitting at one of the somewhat optimistically placed outdoor tables on the small side-street where the theatre was located, just next to the main entrance. Winter may have been coming, but never let it be said that Winterfell didn’t at least make a valiant effort to embrace café culture.

Brienne ran her hands through her hair in frustration. ‘That _man_ is the most self-centred, conceited, pig-headed, egotistical, objectionable person on the planet!’ she complained.

‘Need we ask who?’ deadpanned Ygritte.

‘We’ve been in there for over two hours, and we’re just going round and round in circles!’ cried Brienne. ‘Which, incidentally, is exactly what Renly is going to be doing, if _You Know Who_ insists on doing the scene where he tries to grab the cigarette case _without_ actually getting out of his seat. He’s supposed to _chase_ Algernon around the stage for it.’

Margaery smirked. ‘You know, Brienne, I think you’ve been spending too much time around Jaime. You do know you’re starting to sound like him?’

‘I am not,’ objected Brienne, feeling an unexpected blush colour her face.

‘But that’s only Scene One!’ exclaimed Ygritte. ‘You’ve been at it for three days. Is that really as far as you’ve got?’

Brienne winced. It was hard enough dealing with Jaime and explaining her lack of progress to Catelyn, without getting criticism for her failure from the rest of the cast.

‘Well, we kind of reached a stalemate, so I suggested we move on and come back to it. But now he’s being difficult about his entrance in Act Two as well. Catelyn wanted him to come on from the side door into the auditorium for the garden scene, and up the steps at the side of the stage, but he point blank refuses. Says he’ll be too close to the audience. Honestly, I’m at my wits’ end.’ Her head dropped to the table again.

‘You must have made _some_ progress, though?’ asked Margaery in a more encouraging voice.

‘Well – I suppose he _did_ agree to my suggestion about moving the main entrance in Act One from stage right to up centre,’ mused Brienne grudgingly. ‘But he didn’t have much choice, really. If he wants to both enter _and_ exit through the same door, without turning his right arm towards the audience, then a central door is the only thing that can possibly work.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s obvious. Even Loras and Catelyn agreed in the end.’

Margaery grinned. ‘But – Brienne – that’s _awesome_. I wouldn’t have thought of that.’

‘No, me either,’ agreed Ygritte with a smile. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like I thought you were doing a crap job. I mean, it’s obvious you know what you’re doing.’

‘It is?’ asked Brienne dubiously.

Sansa nodded fiercely. ‘Of course, Brienne. You’re fantastic. It’s just _him_ who’s impossible. I don’t know how you can put up with him, I really don’t. My Mum says he’s got the worst attitude of any actor she’s ever encountered.’

Margaery hesitated. ‘Actually,’ she said almost apologetically, ‘Jaime’s okay.’

Three jaws dropped.

‘What?!’ exclaimed Sansa. ‘How can you _say_ that? He’s absolutely awful to my Mum, and to Brienne.’

‘Yeah, not twenty minutes ago he called me “the most bloody infuriating wench in history” and asked me which I had more of – brain cells or freckles,’ said Brienne dejectedly. ‘And then he offered to check for himself by counting all of my freckles.’ She blushed. ‘All over.’

Margaery grinned, one eyebrow raised archly. ‘Did he now?’

Brienne rolled her eyes and tutted as she caught Margaery’s implication. ‘Oh, he’s always saying stuff like that. It doesn’t _mean_ anything. _As if._ He just enjoys humiliating me, that’s all. I hate it.’

Margaery held up her hands placatingly. ‘Look, I’m not saying he’ll ever win an award for tact,’ she offered. ‘He’s an arrogant shit, when he wants to be, and I know he comes across as rude - almost brutal at times. But, seriously, that’s not what he’s really like. You should see him with Tyrion. His brother. Jaime’s a totally different guy.’

‘You hang out with them a lot, down in King’s Landing, did yer?’ asked Ygritte.

‘Well, kind of, yeah,’ said Margaery with a small smile. ‘Tyrion and I – well, we have a kind of casual, on-again, off-again thing going. Call it friends with benefits.’ She winked. ‘Anyway, I’ve spent quite a lot of time at his place over the last couple of years, one way and another, and Jaime is, like, _always_ there, so I guess you could say I got to know him a little bit. He and Tyrion are really close. I mean, they like, _adore_ each other. It’s so lovely to see. Nobody else in Tyrion’s family even gives him the time of day, hardly.’

Brienne was listening in fascination. ‘Why’s that?’ she asked.

Margaery’s expression grew serious. ‘Tyrion has achondroplasia. Dwarfism. His father pretty much rejected him from birth, and their sister treats him like dirt too. Not that either of them is any great loss, honestly. But Jaime’s the only one who’s ever cared about him, Tyrion says. He worships the ground Jaime walks on.’ She hesitated again. ‘That’s why when I told Tyrion about this show, he moved mountains to get him the role. He’s been beside himself over the state Jaime’s in.’

‘You mean – the hand thing?’ breathed Sansa.

Margaery nodded. ‘It fucked him up pretty badly,’ she said quietly. ‘I mean – you only need look at pictures of him from before it happened, and compare them with the way he is now, to see he’s suffering from depression. And it’s been three years. It’s like he simply can’t adjust. Tyrion’s worried sick about him. He says he’s tried everything to get him to snap out of it, but Jaime just refuses all help or therapy or anything. His film career has pretty much tanked. But for some reason Tyrion thought going back to the stage might just give him the jolt he needs.’

Brienne swallowed hard. She had always felt sorry for Jaime, ever since she first heard about his injury, but it hadn’t occurred to her that his general attitude was directly connected with it, or that his issues with regard to acting sprung from anything more serious than wounded vanity. The idea that he had actually been in mental anguish for three years made a surprising pain twist in her chest.

‘What, um – what actually happened to his hand?’ she asked softly.

Margaery took a deep breath before replying.

‘He’d gone out to the shop near his house in King’s Landing late one night to buy cigarettes, and he got jumped on by a gang of muggers. I don’t know if they realized who he was or whether he was just unlucky. It’s a very affluent neighbourhood, so there’s quite a lot of robberies. Anyway they beat him up, took his wallet and phone and left him unconscious on the pavement.’ Margaery paused, then continued with a wince, ‘Then they hotwired the nearest car and drove off. Trouble was, the way Jaime was lying, his hand was sticking out into the road - and they drove over it. He came round from the pain. The papers said you could hear his screams ten blocks away.’

‘Oh my _gods,’_ gasped Sansa.

Brienne was suddenly aware of tears pricking the backs of her eyes. _Gods, don’t be silly_ , she told herself.

‘So what happened then?’ Sansa continued, all agog.

‘Well, the doctors had to amputate,’ said Margaery. ‘His entire hand was crushed. Practically pulp, as Tyrion puts it.’ She glanced around at the horrified faces of the other three women. ‘Sorry.’

Ygritte snorted. ‘I hope they caught the bastards what did it.’

‘No, they didn’t, unfortunately,’ said Margaery. ‘Tyrion’s theory is, that’s why Jaime can’t move past it. No closure.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’m sure it’s partly just vanity. But the media haven’t exactly made it easy on him either. He’s got what you might call a tempestuous relationship with them, to put it mildly.’

Brienne remembered something. ‘Loras said he hit a reporter.’

Margaery laughed. ‘Oh, I’d be surprised if it was just the one, to be honest. Jaime’s positively infamous with the King’s Landing press, and he hates them with a passion. I can’t say I blame him. They’re dreadful. Always following you around with their long lenses and printing awful lies about you.’

‘What? Has that happened to _you_?’ Brienne asked in surprise.

‘Well, only on a fairly minor scale,’ said Margaery with a smile. ‘I did a couple of seasons on _FleaBottom_ and I got a bit of attention then. Always criticizing my clothes, or my weight, or my hair, or saying I was sleeping with this or that person – whether or not it was true.’ She gave a rueful smirk. ‘Thankfully they’ve forgotten all about me again now though.’

 _‘FleaBottom_? You mean the soap?’

‘Oh honestly, Brienne!’ laughed Sansa. ‘You’re so hopeless. _Of course_ she was on it. She was the barmaid who turned out to be one of Walder Frey’s long-lost daughters? _Gods_. Don’t you ever watch _anything?_ ’

‘I’ve seen a few episodes,’ protested Brienne. She turned to Margaery apologetically. ‘I missed you on it, though. Sorry.’

‘Oh, it’s okay,’ laughed Margaery. ‘You didn’t miss much. I wasn’t very good. The scripts are awful anyway. I fell out with the director and they had my character murdered to get rid of me. But it did give me a taste of the more unpleasant sides of that kind of popular success. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still ambitious. But fame’s not all roses, to coin a phrase. The media can be brutal as all hells, and I think Jaime’s had it worse than most. For a long time, too.’

‘But – hasn’t he done some pretty bad things to warrant it? I mean, the business with Aerys Targaryen? And his sister?’ Brienne ventured hesitantly.

Margaery shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t know the truth about those,’ she admitted. ‘But I do know one thing for certain – if it’s in the papers, then you should take it with a heavy pinch of salt. What’s that saying – “Never let the truth stand in the way of a good story”? And – well – I don’t claim to know Jaime especially well, but from what I’ve seen of him he doesn’t seem to me like the kind of guy who’s capable of those kinds of things - or of lying about it for years, either. He’s nothing if not straightforward, you can’t deny that.’

‘Well – no,’ Brienne said thoughtfully, trying to absorb this new information.

‘Even so,’ continued Margaery, ‘I’ve got to say, on the basis of what I’ve seen so far, I’m not convinced this experiment’s working, unfortunately. Jaime seems just as moody and unmotivated as ever.’ She turned to Ygritte with an apologetic smirk. ‘To tell you the truth, Ygs, I think Tyrion was rather hoping that he just needed a woman, and that the two of you would hit it off during your romantic scenes and – y’know.’ She made a lewd gesture and grinned. ‘The time-honoured cure-all.’

Ygritte pulled a disgusted face. ‘Ew, no. I mean, we have good onstage chemistry, but that’s where it ends, trust me. He’s not my type.’

Sansa blinked. ‘Isn’t he _everyone’s_ type? To look at, that is.’ She paused. ‘I mean, if you ignore the whole thing where he doesn’t wash and where he’s a total asshole, obviously.’

Brienne found herself blushing, quite without warning.

‘Not mine,’ shrugged Ygritte. ‘Never saw the appeal, frankly. That blond god look don’t do nothing for me. I like ‘em dark and brooding.’ Her attention was suddenly distracted by something behind Brienne. ‘Speaking of which…’

Brienne turned, and followed Ygritte’s gaze to where a young man with a mop of dark curly hair, dressed in a smart black suit, was approaching their table with a serious air.          

He stopped when he reached them, and looked between Ygritte and Sansa, frowning.

‘Which one of you two is Ygritte?’ he asked eventually.

Margaery raised her eyebrows interestedly.

‘Who wants to know?’ said Ygritte, looking him up and down.

‘I’m Jon Snow,’ he said. ‘Jaime Lannister’s driver? He said I’d find Ygritte here. Said she had red hair. Well, actually he said the cafeteria but you weren’t there, and the guy in there – Sam? He said to try out here. But - there’s two of you,’ he finished with another frown.

Sansa giggled.

‘I’m Ygritte,’ said the lady in question. ‘What can I do for you then, Jon Snow?’

The young man shifted from foot to foot, looking embarrassed.  

‘Well, um, Mr Lannister said something about you showing me around town?’ he ventured at last. ‘But, um, if you’re busy, I can just’ –

A twinkle appeared in Ygritte’s eyes. ‘No, no, I reckon I could take the rest of the afternoon off. They’re not ready to do my scene. In’t that right, Brienne? I mean, if that’s okay, like?’

‘What? Oh. No. I mean yes, fine by me,’ said Brienne. She was still surprised when people asked her permission to do things.          

‘Is that all you’ve got to wear?’ Ygritte asked Jon, her eyes travelling from his suit to his polished black dress shoes.

He looked nervous. ‘Er, yeah. I mean, these are my work clothes.’

‘Well, you’re not going to get far in the kind of places I’d like to take yer, looking like that. Can you even walk in those shoes?’                

‘Yes,’ he replied defensively, then promptly deflated. ‘Well, not that far, actually. But we could take the car? Mr Lannister won’t mind, so long as I’m back in time to pick him up.’

Ygritte laughed. ‘If you think I’m swanning around Winterfell in some poncey limousine, you’ve got another think coming, Jon Snow,’ she said. ‘We’re walking, and that’s that.’ She thought for a moment. ‘You got any money? ‘Cause I’m an actress, so I sure as hells don’t.’

Jon frowned again. ‘Not really,’ he replied, then hesitated and felt in the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘But I do have this.’  

He dropped a small, very shiny, rectangular object onto the table in front of them. There was a long, reverent silence as they all read the words: _Iron Bank of Braavos. Platinum Visa. Mr J Lannister._   

It was Sansa who eventually broke it. She picked up the card and twirled it between her fingers like a precious jewel. ‘A Braavosi account,’ she whispered in awe. ‘What’s the credit limit on this thing?’

Jon shrugged. ‘I don’t think he’s got one.’

Brienne’s eyes widened. ‘Did he say you could use this?’

Jon nodded. ‘His precise words were: “Don’t buy a new car, but otherwise, knock yourself out”,’ he reported, deadpan.    

With a grin, Ygritte stood up, leaned across the table and snatched the credit card from Sansa’s fingers. Sansa gave a little whimper of protest.

‘Well then, Jon Snow,’ said Ygritte mischievously, ‘I think you and me have got some shopping to do. Starting with buying you a decent pair of boots.’ She trotted a few steps, then spun to look at Jon who was still rooted to the spot, looking a little frightened. ‘Well?’ she said impatiently. ‘You coming, or what?’

‘Oh. Right. Yeah,’ he said, and hurried after her, the two of them quickly disappearing around the corner onto the main street.

There was a short pause.

‘What?’ asked Brienne, because Margaery was staring at her in what appeared to be a meaningful way.

‘Oh, nothing,’ said Margaery airily.

‘ _What?_ ’ repeated Brienne. ‘So Jaime Lannister lets his driver use his credit card. So? It doesn’t prove anything.’            

‘Pretty generous, though, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Irresponsible, more like. He must have more money than sense.’

‘He’s a film star, and a Lannister. Of course he has!’ exclaimed Margaery. ‘But if he was really “the most self-centred, objectionable person on the planet”, then it would seem to be unlikely behavior. That’s all I’m saying.’

‘Look -’ began Brienne in frustration. Her feelings were somehow getting hopelessly confused. She had been quite convinced that Jaime was an irredeemable asshole, albeit one who had suffered a terrible blow, but everything Margaery was saying seemed to indicate that he may simply be misunderstood, or something. It was too much for Brienne to wrap her head around, especially when she had just spent the past four mornings locked in what felt like mortal combat with him as he argued with her over every single point she made. If she was honest, she wasn’t ready to stop being annoyed at him, and the suggestion that she might have misjudged him both confused and irritated her in equal measure.

‘You guys!’ interrupted Sansa in an urgent whisper. ‘Sshh. He’s coming.’

She nodded towards the glass atrium of the theatre, where the loping form of Jaime was indeed visible, heading towards the door. He stepped outside and immediately clutched his red hoodie around himself with an exaggerated shiver.

‘Seven fucking hells!’ he exclaimed. ‘Why are you all sitting outside? It’s about forty below out here! What is this, Hypothermia Week? I’m expecting to see ice spiders, any minute now.’ Despite his protestations, he walked across and threw himself down into the seat which Ygritte had vacated, though he pulled it round to the head of the table between Margaery and Brienne. He sighed dramatically and examined his fingers glumly. ‘I think frostbite may be setting in already.’

 _I wonder if the cold makes his stump ache_ , Brienne found herself worrying, irrationally. _Maybe he’s right and he should go back inside. Wait, what am I thinking? Gods, get a grip._

She rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not that cold. It’s quite mild today, actually, for the time of year. Especially by Winterfell standards.’

‘Oh, I’m sure by _Winterfell_ standards this is positively tropical,’ Jaime chirped. ‘Sunbathing weather, probably. Feel free to get your bikini out, wench. I bet you’re dying to. Don’t let me and my more sensitive constitution stop you.’ He grinned at her.

Brienne huffed loudly. The fact that she had just been bizarrely _worrying_ about him, while he continued to taunt her, made her feel more irritated with him than ever.

‘First of all, I said it was _mild_ , not _hot._ Why must you always exaggerate everything? Secondly, I do not possess a bikini. And thirdly, if I did, I assure you I wouldn’t let anybody see me in it.’

Remembering, belatedly, that she should show at least some semblance of professional respect, she managed to bite back the _Least of all you_ which was hovering on the tip of her tongue, but Jaime seemed to hear its unspoken message nonetheless.

‘Oh, that’s too bad, wench,’ he drawled, letting his eyes roam insolently across Brienne’s body and making her feel suddenly exposed despite her jeans and long-sleeved sweatshirt. ‘I’m sure that would have been a sight. All those freckles and goose bumps vying for position. You’d have looked like an Impressionist painting. Of what, I’m not sure.’

Brienne clenched her jaw in embarrassed fury, her face bright red, but Margaery abruptly spoke up.

‘ _I’m_ not cold, and I’m just wearing _this_ ,’ she purred, in a suggestive tone which sounded a little too calculated to be genuine. She leaned across Jaime, indicating the thin, clinging, midriff-baring sweater she had on, watching him with an odd look in her eye as though testing his reaction.

He glanced briefly in her direction, barely seeming to take in her words or her clothing, muttered, ‘Mm,’ and then turned his attention immediately back to Brienne. ‘So what happened to you, anyway? I was getting lonely in there, waiting for you.’

Brienne scowled at him, while noticing vaguely that Margaery had sat back and appeared to be beaming. ‘I’m taking a break. I told you that.’

‘Lightweight.’

She rolled her eyes again. ‘I’m not a _lightweight._ I just needed some air.’

‘Oh, my overwhelming charisma in such an enclosed space too stifling for you, was it? You should have said, wench. I can tone it down. Or at least, give you an occasional respite. I’m not completely heartless, you know.’

She gawped. ‘ _No._ If you must know, you were driving me crazy.’

‘So? _You_ were driving _me_ crazy, but do you see me fleeing the field?’

‘You’re out here. Same as me.’

‘I was looking for you! I can’t think of any other reason to venture out into this sub-zero, post-apocalyptic wasteland, other than that I’m eager to return to our battle of wills – I mean, our work,’ he smirked. ‘It’s not my fault if you can’t take my pace.’

‘I can take your _pace_ , as you put it. I just can’t take your total intransigence when it comes to doing absolutely anything I suggest.’

‘Oh now, that’s simply not true, and you know it. I agreed with you completely on the Act One door thing.’

‘Grudgingly.’

‘On the contrary. I was most gracious about it. I think it’s a stroke of genius, if you must know. It’s perfectly obvious that’s where the door should have been all along. Not only does it make more dramatic sense, it also creates a fantastic tableau when Lady Bracknell and Gwendolen enter. You should have designed the set in the first place, wench, and I shall be happy to tell Catelyn so, if she asks.’

Brienne stared at him in shock. ‘Did you – did you just _compliment_ me?’ she asked incredulously.

Jaime shrugged and looked away. ‘Credit where credit’s due,’ he said tersely.

It was at that point that Brienne noticed that Sansa was looking back and forth between the two of them, open-mouthed, as though she were watching a particularly enthralling tennis match, while Margaery had one hand clapped over her mouth as her shoulders shook with mirth.

Apparently surprised by Brienne’s lack of response, Jaime followed her gaze. ‘What’s wrong with _you?_ ’ he asked Margaery.

Margaery managed to control herself, and removed her hand from her mouth, but her face was still wreathed in a grin. ‘Oh, nothing,’ she said delightedly, standing up. ‘Nothing at all. I’ve just got a sudden, urgent need to make a phone call, that’s all.’ She giggled again with absolute glee.

Jaime looked up at her, eyes narrowed. ‘Who to?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘Someone of our mutual acquaintance,’ she quipped. ‘Come on Sansa,’ she added with a wink. ‘Let’s go.’

Sansa looked from her to Brienne, then to Jaime, back to Brienne, and finally to Margaery again. Margaery cocked an eyebrow. A slow smile spread across Sansa’s face. She stood.

‘Oh. Yes,’ she said, in an obviously fake voice. ‘I just remembered I’ve got something really, super important to do. Um, somewhere else.’

Margaery rolled her eyes almost imperceptibly and grabbed Sansa’s arm, pulling her away from the table in the direction of the theatre door.

‘Um, what’s going on?’ asked Brienne innocently.

‘Nothing!’ repeated Margaery merrily in the same tone, spinning on her heel to look at Brienne. ‘But, you know what, Brienne, forget what I said earlier, okay? Everything here seems just _peachy_ to me!’ And with that she grinned and pivoted again and pulled Sansa firmly away, while reaching into her bag for her phone.

Brienne was feeling extremely confused.

Jaime frowned. ‘If you’re phoning that little shit of a brother of mine,’ he called after Margaery, ‘you can tell him he owes me for spewing me out here in the frozen tundra with this bunch of amateurs!’

Brienne’s mouth fell open. _So much for Margaery showing him in a new light._

Jaime whipped his head around to look at her and caught her expression. ‘Oh, not _you_ , wench,’ he corrected irritably. Brienne’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, which increased still further when a look of contrition passed over his face and he turned back to shout, ‘Or you, Marge!’ He glanced back at Brienne again, sighed, rolled his eyes, and finally turned once more in the direction of Margaery’s retreating back and added at the top of his considerable lungs, ‘OR ANYONE RELATED TO YOU!’ Another beat. ‘AND TELL THE LITTLE BASTARD I’LL CALL HIM LATER!’

_Or maybe not. Dammit, Margaery. Don’t be right. I need to hate him._

Margaery didn’t turn around but merely gave him a cheery wave over her shoulder. Sansa, however, to Brienne’s amazement, craned her head around and gave her an enormous wink and thumbs-up sign as they went through the door. Brienne and Jaime both watched them through the glass as they traversed the atrium, giggling together – Sansa still shooting the occasional glance out through the window – and finally disappeared from sight.

 _Well, that was weird_ , thought Brienne.

There was a pause.

‘Well. That was weird,’ said Jaime eventually.

Brienne blinked twice. ‘Um. Yeah. Totally,’ she murmured.

He flashed an evil grin. ‘Wait – are you agreeing with me again?’

‘No,’ she protested feebly.

‘You are. You just said “Yeah, totally”. That denotes agreement.’

‘Well, okay, just a little,’ she grunted. ‘But only about Marge. She was acting weird, right?’

‘Totally weird.’

‘Now who’s agreeing?’ she retorted.

Jaime turned fully to look at her. He was smiling from ear to ear – a warm, dazzling smile which reached his eyes, and which seemed to hit Brienne square in the gut and rob her of the ability to think.

‘ _Wench!_ ’ he exclaimed with what sounded like delighted affection. ‘I do believe you’re enjoying this. Maybe almost as much as I am.’

Brienne felt a flush run over her which she was positive had turned her bright red from head to toe. _Oh gods, I am. Why am I? No, no, of course I’m not enjoying it. That’s just crazy._

She rose. ‘Oh, yes, of course. That’s right,’ she said sarcastically. ‘How stupid of me. Because I enjoy ritual humiliation and having my ideas shot down at every turn.’

‘You do when it’s me doing the shooting.’

She clenched her fists. ‘Gods, you are quite simply _impossible_ , do you know that?’ she hissed furiously. _I wish he’d stop smiling like that._ ‘I can’t imagine why Catelyn wants you in this play.’

He bit his lip. ‘Because I’m the best, wench. I know it. You know it.’

Brienne felt slightly lightheaded and had to put out a hand to steady herself on the table. She willed herself not to sit down again. ‘Well, if you’re _the best,_ then maybe we can work out a way to get to the end of the next scene without you making an idiot of yourself or anyone else,’ she said grimly. ‘And my _name_ is Brienne.’

Jaime opened his mouth to speak, but she turned her back and started to walk back towards the theatre. After a few steps she turned, emotions battling inside her.

‘Come on. I thought you were eager to get inside out of the cold. Wouldn’t want you freezing to death, now would we?’

‘So _bossy_ ,’ he complained mischievously with a slow grin, rising to his feet.

‘I’m the stage manager. I’m supposed to be bossy,’ she muttered, and continued walking, keeping her back to Jaime in what she hoped looked like righteous indignation.

But the reality was that despite her best intentions, a smile which she was powerless to control or explain, and which she had absolutely no intention of allowing him to see, was lifting the corners of her mouth.

 _Dammit, Margaery_ , she thought for the second time. _I really want to hate him._ Because the prospect of _not_ hating Jaime Lannister was utterly terrifying.

 

 

 

                                                                            

 


	6. Even men of the noblest possible moral character are extremely susceptible to the influence of the physical charms of others.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since I couldn't get these two into a bath in this fic.
> 
> Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's (drumroll please) Awkward Boner Time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I always seem to begin with an apology. But this time I really, really mean it. The hiatus on this has been shocking and I am truly sorry, especially as long hiatuses on fics I'm reading stress me out immensely. 
> 
> As some of you know, about a month ago I made a major, and unsought-after, intercontinental move from Asia back to the UK after six years. And it sucks. It sucks infinity. Reverse culture shock is a real thing. I am struggling to find my feet in a country which I no longer recognise, while mourning the life which I was forced to leave behind. In addition, I'm still only partway through unpacking multitudes of stuff which I probably don't really need, trying to get my son adjusted to a new, and very demanding, school regime, AND for some inexplicable reason it takes weeks to get the internet connected here. I still can't connect wirelessly on my laptop. None of this is good, or conducive to writing.
> 
> But enough of my moaning and excuses. This chapter went through a number of iterations and was threatening to become a behemoth, so I ended up splitting its events into two or possibly even three. I kind of didn't want to, because of 'which' chapter it is, but on the other hand I kind of like the one idea per chapter thing which I've got going with the quotes. So anyway, it cuts off before I would ideally have wanted it to, and the next chapter may well continue straight on from this timeline instead of there being a time gap. You'll know what I'm talking about once you've read it.

**_Even men of the noblest possible moral character are extremely susceptible to the influence of the physical charms of others._ **

 

‘Brienne!’ Loras’s face, somewhat desperate-looking, appeared around the edge of the office partition. ‘Need your help please.’

Brienne started guiltily and blushed. Her mind had been distinctly elsewhere – and by elsewhere, she definitely did _not_ mean dwelling on the memory of a certain movie which she had watched at the weekend, _completely by accident_.

Her Saturday had passed as normal - a trip to the gym, followed by swimming, then grocery shopping, laundry, and a call to her father, in which she studiously avoided mentioning _Earnest_ in anything more than the vaguest terms.

She still had a clear, and excruciating, memory of the worried look on her father’s face when she had announced her decision to move to Winterfell in the hope of working with Renly, and she suspected he might fear for her sanity if she casually dropped into conversation the news that she was working with one of Westeros’s most infamous stars who also, improbably, had turned out to be Selwyn’s all-time greatest fan.

When Sunday dawned wet and stormy, it had quickly become evident that her habitual hike or bike ride were going to be out of the question. Brienne pottered around her apartment for few hours, hoping it would clear up, but the weather continued to worsen, and by lunchtime she was feeling so disgruntled that she made a rare move to switch on the television.

The Sunday afternoon omnibus edition of _FleaBottom_ was just starting, so she settled down to watch, mostly out of a vague sense of loyalty and guilt about Margaery. Brienne hadn’t watched it since college - when she’d casually caught the occasional episode – but it was oddly familiar and compelling, despite the fact that she had no idea what was going on and that the only character whom she recognized was Walder Frey, who had been a fixture since the pilot episode more than twenty years ago, his appearance seemingly unaltered.

Ninety minutes later, as the annoyingly catchy theme tune was thundering through its final few bars, she walked through to the kitchen to wash up her coffee cup, and had just returned to the living room and was feeling around on the sofa for the remote, determined to spend the rest of the afternoon more productively, when the announcer’s next words stopped her dead in her tracks.

‘And now, Jaime Lannister and Taena Merryweather star in our afternoon thriller, _Siege.’_

Brienne found herself sinking back on to the sofa as though in a trance, mesmerized by the screen as she watched Jaime’s name appear in the opening credits, and trying to make sense of the weird fluttering in her chest. It wasn’t as though she didn’t _know_ he was a movie star, and this wasn’t the first time she’d seen an actor whom she knew personally appear on TV. Some of her father’s contemporaries had been quite famous. Then there was that washing powder commercial which Renly had made and which Brienne had embarrassingly recorded and watched on repeat until the file became corrupted.

But somehow the reality of watching _Jaime_ on a screen in her living room seemed unsettling and beyond surreal. She worked with him daily. She’d drunk coffee with him, shouted at him, argued with him, laughed at him, been flirted with and teased by him.

Then his golden head appeared on screen and her heart seemed to stop.

The film was a somewhat formulaic thriller in which Jaime played a hostage negotiator who becomes mixed up in a terrorist plot by a tactfully unnamed Essosi power, and along the way falls in love with a mixed-race beauty of suspect allegiance. It was strange to see him with two hands, and his face seemed to wear an arrogant smirk which Brienne didn’t much like - but he was unbelievably, staggeringly beautiful – all piercing eyes and tense chiseled jawline (sporting what she supposed was the ‘fuck-me stubble’ to which Renly had referred – a term which she suddenly began to understand) and dark tailored suits which showed off his perfectly proportioned body.

‘Brienne. _Brienne!’_

‘Huh?’ she managed.

Loras smirked. ‘What’s up with you? Rough night, was it?’

She scowled and blushed again. ‘No, I just – sorry, what’s wrong?’

He pulled a face. ‘It’s Jaime and his Amazing CGI Dreamcoat.’ Brienne blinked. ‘Lannister,’ clarified Loras. ‘Costume fitting. _Nightmare!_ ’

‘Why are you only doing the costume fittings now?’ she asked, embarrassment making her tone a little harsher than she had intended. ‘We’re into week two. Isn’t it a bit late?’

He stopped and regarded her with a look somewhere between amusement and indignation, clearly unused to being addressed by her in such a manner.

 _‘Actually_ there’s not that much to do,’ he replied, a little coldly _.’_ Obviously I already knew Ren’s and Margaery’s sizes so I got their stuff started weeks ago. Grandmother has a personal seamstress down in Highgarden who always takes care of her costumes for her. Luwin, Nan and Hodor have all been in so many shows here that we can costume them completely from pre-existing wardrobe. So that only leaves you, Sandor, Jaime and Ygritte. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.’

‘My knickers are just fine, thank you,’ huffed Brienne, wondering vaguely when her responses to everything and everyone had defaulted to the mode of speech she used with Jaime. ‘I was just – wait, _what_ did you say?!’ she gulped, as Loras’s words belatedly sank in.

‘Which part?’

‘The part about me and Sandor?’

‘Um, I need to fit you for your costumes? For the scene changes. You’ll both need to be dressed in period, as servants. You _know_ this, Brie. It’s standard practice.’

Brienne sank her head into her hands. ‘Oh gods,’ she mumbled. ‘I hadn’t thought about it. Do I have to? Don’t answer that. I know I have to. But _oh gods_.’ She raised her head with a pained expression. ‘What will I have to wear? Please don’t say a dress, Loras. Please.’

He gave a malicious grin. ‘Um – a dress.’ Brienne groaned. ‘But don’t worry, it’s not like it shows anything,’ said Loras in an attempt at reassurance. ‘It’s standard 1900s housemaid – chin to toe, in black, with a white lace cap and apron which you take off when you’re not on stage. Come on, Brie, don’t be weird about it,’ he added in an imploring tone. ‘I need at least one person here who’s going to cooperate. But we can do yours later. Right now I have a rather more pressing problem. Please can you come? Pretty please?’

She sighed again. ‘ _Fine._ I don’t know what I can do though. I don’t know the first thing about costumes.’

Loras’ mouth set in a grim line. ‘I don’t need someone who knows about costumes. _I_ know about costumes. What I need is someone who can handle His Nibs, and you seem to be the only one. _I_ just have to somehow create a miracle jacket which makes it look like he’s got two hands, but it’s not going to happen if he won’t even let me within three feet of him to take his measurements. Besides, he asked for you.’

Brienne found herself rising to her feet as though pulled by an invisible thread. ‘He did?’

‘Yep,’ said Loras. ‘”Bring me the Wench” was the command. ‘That _is_ you, right? Even _he_ seems to think you’re his fixer.’

‘So it would seem,’ murmured Brienne wryly as she picked up her phone and followed Loras, trying her best to compose her thoughts and ignore the fact that her heart rate seemed to have increased for some unidentifiable reason.

‘Wench!!’ exclaimed Jaime in relief, leaping up as Brienne walked into the studio behind Loras. ‘Thank the fucking Seven! Will you _please_ tell this idiot here that I – what’s the matter?’ he grumbled, stopping abruptly to scowl at her.

Brienne tried hard to close her mouth but it would simply not cooperate.

_He’s washed his hair._

_Oh my gods. He has washed. His. Hair._

_Spun gold._ That was the only thing she could think of. A ridiculous simile from children’s fairy tales, come to life before her very eyes. The rest of him was unchanged – baggy clothes, beard, dirty sneakers, the lot – but sat atop his head was this - _glistening mane_ which just couldn’t be real. Nobody had hair like that.

_He’s had it highlighted. He must have done. Stop it. Stop thinking about that movie. Stop looking at his hair. Come on, it can’t be real. I swear it was brown on Friday. Get a grip._

Brienne swallowed hard and suddenly became aware of the silence and two pairs of eyes on her, although she saw only the green ones.

‘Er – um – what?’ she stammered eventually, managing to make herself sound like an unprofessional idiot for the second time in ten minutes.

Jaime frowned, then smirked. ‘Are you high, or something, wench?’ he chuckled. ‘Or are you just channeling your even-more-awkward teenage self for some reason this morning?’

Brienne blushed furiously. Loras gave her a curious look.

‘I’m perfectly in control of all my faculties, thank you, Mr Lannister,’ she replied curtly, in an attempt to regain her dignity, though the fact that it was a blatant untruth didn’t help with her blushing. ‘Now, Loras tells me there’s a problem regarding your costume. What seems to be the trouble?’

Jaime rolled his eyes and shook his head. Brienne tried desperately not to watch in fascination as the golden strands moved and shimmered.

‘Well, as I’ve been trying to explain to your _friend_ here,’ he huffed, ‘there is absolutely no need for him to measure me. All he has to do is email my assistant, Peck, and he’ll give him all of my measurements from my file. But he just won’t listen. It’s like talking to a stuffed ocelot. Either he’s being willfully dim, or else he actively enjoys wasting his own time, as well as mine.’

Brienne swallowed and gave the matter a moment’s thought, glad of an excuse to take her eyes off Jaime’s thrice-damned hair and focus back onto the professional issue at hand.

‘Okay,’ she said slowly, turning to Loras. ‘That, um – that doesn’t sound unreasonable. Getting the measurements from Mr Lannister’s assistant, I mean.’ _Not that you’re a stuffed ocelot. Although, come to think of it…_ ‘Is there – is there a reason why we can’t just do that?’

‘There are plenty of reasons!’ cried Loras irritably. ‘First of all, he’s already admitted to me that he hasn’t done a period piece for over ten years. His measurements could have altered.’

‘Are you calling me fat?’ demanded Jaime.

Loras glared and turned back to Brienne. ‘The point is that the clothes for this period were very fitted. Tight waistcoat, fitted coat, tight pants. Get it even slightly wrong and it looks awful. I don’t do half-baked jobs, Brienne. Not like some people,’ he added with another glare at Jaime, who started to bristle and looked to her in apparent appeal for her to say something in his defence.

Brienne forced her face into a disapproving expression towards Loras, but her brain seemed to have snagged on the phrase ‘tight pants’ and she didn’t trust herself to actually make any sound.

‘Then there are – you know – _other considerations_ to take into account,’ Loras was continuing with a meaningful look at Jaime’s right arm.

The desperate look in Jaime’s eyes then was sufficient to bring Brienne back down to earth. _Of course this was about his hand._ She met his gaze steadily for the first time since entering the room. She had this.

‘Loras’, she said, scarcely turning her head to address him. ‘Would you mind leaving me and Mr Lannister alone for a few minutes please?’

Loras looked back and forth between them for a moment, then huffed, ‘Fine. Here’s my list. Here’s my tape measure.’ He all but flung them at Brienne. ‘And don’t think you’re off the hook either’, he added, brandishing his pointer finger at her. ‘I’m measuring you after rehearsal. And I think your dress just got a little tighter.’

‘Well in that case, I think the blackouts just got a little blacker,’ Brienne retorted at his retreating back as he flounced out of the room.

Jaime laughed and seemed to relax a little, but as soon Loras had closed the door, he sat down on the counter, folded his arms petulantly and growled, ‘If you think you’re going to persuade me to let Mr Fabulous there touch me, you’ve got another think coming.’

‘Wait,’ said Brienne suddenly. ‘This isn’t just because Loras is gay, is it?’

Jaime’s head snapped up. ‘What? Gods, no, of course not,’ he replied testily. ‘I’d hardly have survived twenty years in the acting profession if I were homophobic, now would I? Do me a favour, wench. I’ve had a lot of unpleasant, unfounded accusations thrown at me in my time, but that one’s a first.’

He sounded so genuinely offended that Brienne blushed in contrition. ‘Okay, okay, I’m sorry.’

He glanced at her warily. ‘I just don’t trust him. Him and his other half have both had it in for me since I got handed the part which Renly thinks he deserves – which he doesn’t - even though it wasn’t my idea, and frankly I want to be here about as much as they want me here. I’m only doing it so that I can’ – he caught her eye and cut himself off abruptly. He inhaled deeply. ‘But the point is, nobody except medical professionals and my immediate family have seen _this’_ – he raised his right sleeve slightly – ‘in all its wonderful glory, so I don’t care how often he tells me that he can’t measure me for fitted period costumes when I’m wearing a hoodie. There’s still no way in all of the seven hells that I’m letting _him_ of all people be the first one to see me – you know…’

‘Exposed?’ she asked softly. The wave of sympathy and affection which swept through her made her want to weep, or cradle him in her arms, or do something, _anything_ , to take away the pain in his voice.

He looked up, and their eyes met. He nodded.

‘I know,’ she said reassuringly. ‘That’s why I’m going to do it.’

‘Do what?’ he asked in confusion.

‘Measure you.’ She looked at him seriously. ‘Look, you have to have a costume made. I’ll just take the measurements and then you can go. Nobody else needs to know about it. Do you trust me?’

He looked up into her eyes once more. ‘I trust you.’

‘Good.’

He sighed. ‘It’s okay, I get it. I’ve just been – you know – putting it off. But if you – I mean, if I’ve got to show it to someone, then I’d sooner it was you than anyone else here, Brienne.’

She could tell he was sincere because he wasn’t calling her ‘wench’. His hair was shining under the light. She glanced at the clipboard which Loras had thrust into her hand. Words like ‘chest’, ‘waist’ and ‘inseam’ jumped out at her. _Oh gods_ , she thought. _How in all the hells am I going to do this?_

Then her eye fell upon two lines which read _: ‘Left arm – shoulder to elbow / elbow to back of hand. Right arm – shoulder to elbow / elbow to ?’_ and she knew she had no choice.

Taking a deep breath, and doing her best to keep her face neutral and her voice upbeat, she began, ‘So. Shall we, um – do you want to, um, ease into it? Do the trousers first?’

 _Tight pants_ , murmured her treacherous brain. She fought to control her blush, failed, and pretended to study the clipboard intently.

Jaime was looking at her curiously. ‘Um. I don’t know,’ he said. She had never heard him sound so unsure of himself. He seemed to ponder for a moment, then said, ‘No, I, um – I think I’d rather, um – get it over with. The worst part. You know.’

‘Right.’ He still made no move. Finally, in desperation, Brienne heard herself say, ‘I’ll take my jumper off too, if you like.’

He raised his head at that, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. ‘And how exactly will that help?’

‘Well – um’ – she froze. To tell the truth, she wasn’t entirely sure where the suggestion had come from or what she was thinking. ‘I was just trying to, um, show solidarity. We’d be – you know – the same. Both out of our comfort zone. Equals.’

Jaime smirked. ‘Well, wench, unless you’re hiding any missing parts under there, I don’t really see how that works.’

Brienne squirmed, torn between a crippling wish for the floor to swallow her up, and a strange urge to explain herself to him.

‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘Of course I’m not. It’s just – well – I always wear a big jumper like this. I don’t like anyone to look at my’ – she glanced down at her chest and blushed furiously – ‘you know.’

There was a loaded pause. ‘Oh,’ murmured Jaime at long last. ‘So what you’re saying is, if I show you mine, you’ll show me yours?’

Her eyes shot up, her face beetroot red. _How could he laugh at her and tease her in such a mean way when she was only trying to help him?_

‘No! Gods! Why are you so’ – she broke off abruptly. There was no mockery in the green eyes. A twinkle, perhaps. But underneath it, she saw vulnerability, gratitude and trust. _So much trust._

Taking a decision, she wordlessly pulled off her large black sweater, then immediately regretted it when Jaime’s eyes flew instantly to her breasts. In her confusion, she had forgotten that owing to the wet weather over the weekend, she had been unable to get her laundry dry yesterday. As a result, instead of her usual, loose-fitting men’s t-shirt, she had been obliged that morning to rummage in the back of her cupboard for one which she rarely wore – a soft, blue, v-necked shirt in women’s XL size which was still tight-fitting on her and revealed far more around the chest area than she felt comfortable with.

To make matters even worse, all of her sports bras had also been wet, so she had been forced to wear the only example she owned of what Sansa insisted on calling ‘a _proper_ bra’. It pushed her small breasts into what felt like an unnatural direction.

Jaime’s gaze was still locked on her bosom. It felt like hours, although it was probably only seconds. Brienne felt like she wanted to die. Still, she could hardly put the sweater back on now, so she forced herself to stay still and bear his scrutiny.

‘Well,’ he said at last. ‘That’s, um – I, um’ – she saw his Adam’s apple move up and down beneath the thick beard on his neck. ‘You, um, look anatomically correct to me, wench.’ He cleared his throat.

She scowled. ‘I never said’ – she began furiously, but his smile was warm and he was looking at her face again. Her shoulders slumped a little, relieved. ‘Now you, then,’ she said with a small smile.

He stared at her for a moment longer, then breathed and grunted, ‘Oh what the hells. In for a star, in for a dragon,’ and began to wriggle his arms down and out of the sleeves of his hoodie, first the right – keeping it under the fabric – and then the left. Finally he gripped the hem with his fingers and tugged the garment up over his head.

The world seemed to devolve into slow motion as Brienne watched. Not only did the lack of one hand make the process torturously awkward for him, it also rendered him incapable of controlling the rest of his clothing. Brienne scarcely had time to notice the grey t-shirt he wore underneath, before it began to rise inexorably before her widening eyes. She took in an expanse of golden side, a six-pack almost cartoonish in its perfection, then a sculpted pec came into view, covered in a dusting of fair hair, and _oh my sweet gods was that his nipple?_

And then the hoodie was off, the grey cloth slipped back down and he sat there in t-shirt and jeans. The shirt wasn’t completely fitted, but his chest was so muscular that it clung tightly across his moulded frame anyway. Rounded biceps bulged from both short sleeves.

There was another long pause. Brienne had apparently forgotten how to breathe. _He’s half a god_ , she thought. _Life is just not fair._

 _‘Well?’_ Jaime gritted out eventually in an agonized voice.

She pulled her eyes up to his face with extreme difficulty, and saw with surprise that he had his own eyes screwed tight shut, his face averted to the left, and was grinding his jaw with desperate tension. With a jolt, she realized that he was expecting her to comment on his stump. She hadn’t even noticed it. To tell the truth, she had forgotten all about it.

Slowly and deliberately, she looked down at his right forearm. Like the rest of him, it was golden and perfectly shaped; strong, muscular, with prominent veins. It ended at the wrist in a smooth, rounded, unremarkable stump which had been neatly finished off by an obviously talented surgeon. A small amount of scarring showed around the end – old, white, healed. There was nothing remotely grotesque or shocking about it.

Out of curiosity, she glanced across at his left arm. Apart from the obvious fact that he had a hand there, it looked identical. Same size, same degree of musculature. Brienne was slightly surprised. She had expected the right to be somewhat atrophied or the left to be more developed from use.

‘How do you work out with your right arm?’ she asked him with interest.

Jaime’s eyes flew open and searched hers uncomprehendingly.

_‘What??’_

_Oh gods, trust me to say the wrong thing_ , she thought, flustered. ‘Sorry. It’s just – your arms. They’re the same. The right one isn’t – you know. Thinner.’ _Fantastic. How unprofessional can I get?_

He gawped at her and then gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I have special weights which I strap on to my wrist. The physiotherapist designed them for me when I first – you know – after… The right one is weighted a little heavier. You know, to, um, compensate.’ He stared at her again in disbelief. ‘Is that really all you’ve got to say about it?’

‘I – I – I’m sorry,’ she stuttered. ‘I know that was too personal. It’s just – well, I work out, you know. So I was just - curious. Sorry. Um, Mr Lannister,’ she added as an afterthought.

He shook his golden mane a little. _‘Jaime,’_ he snorted exasperatedly. ‘My name’s Jaime.’

She gasped, but couldn’t help noticing his gaze flicker over her own shoulders and muscular upper arms. _Great. Now he’s noticed that I’m a mannish freak._ ‘I couldn’t call you that. It’s against theatrical protocol.’

‘Seven hells, Brienne, I don’t give a dusty fuck about theatrical protocol! What I care about is the fact that I’m as good as naked in front of you here and yet you still don’t have the fucking decency to call me by my godsdamned _name!_ ’

Brienne blinked in shock. ‘Oh. Sorry. I – it’s – sorry.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Sorry, _who?_ ’

She swallowed hard. ‘J- Jaime,’ she whispered. ‘Sorry, Jaime.’

‘That’s better. _Wench_ ,’ he added mischievously. Her eyebrows knitted into a frown. ‘I mean, _Brienne,’_ he corrected earnestly. ‘And why are you sorry this time?’

‘For being unprofessional. And inappropriate.’

He tilted his head a little and flashed a grin. ‘I hate to break it to you, but I _think_ this interaction tipped over into ‘inappropriate’ around the time you invited me to look at your tits.’

Brienne clutched an ineffective hand across her chest without thinking. ‘I didn’t ‘invite’ you! You – you just – _looked!’_ she cried in outrage.

‘Mm – hmm. That’d be why you peeled your sweater off in that provocative manner, I suppose.’

‘I did nothing of the kind!’ _As though anything I did could ever be ‘provocative’ anyway_ , she thought miserably.

‘Oh calm down, wench. The experience was wholly pleasurable from my end, I assure you. And like you said, nobody needs to know.’ He winked, then looked deliberately again at the area in question, then back up at her face, eyes twinkling, his lower lip caught by his teeth.

Brienne was scarlet and fuming, but determined not to let him get a rise out of her. ‘You got back to your old self mighty quickly,’ she muttered crossly, picking up Loras’ clipboard and tape measure again. ‘That’ll teach me for trying to be nice to you, I suppose.’

To her surprise, Jaime roared with laughter and regarded her affectionately. ‘Oh, wench,’ he sighed happily. ‘You really are the absolute _best_ , do you know that?’

Brienne glared. ‘I’m the _stupidest_. For putting up with you. Now come on. I’m here to measure you. The sooner I get it done, the sooner we can both get dressed and forget this morning ever happened. Sound good to you? _Jaime?_ ’ she added pointedly when he just stared. A distracting little sliver of pink tongue was protruding from his mouth.

‘Well, I don’t’ – he began, then dropped his head under her gaze. ‘Okay, Brienne,’ he said resignedly. ‘Whatever you say.’

Brienne read anxiously over Loras’ list once more, suddenly aware of the amount which she was going to have to touch him in order to do this. _Chest. Waist. Inseam._ She cleared her throat.

‘So, um, if you don’t mind, I’m just going to work through this in order. To make sure I don’t miss anything out.’

‘Of course,’ said Jaime. His lips were still twitching in amusement. _Humouring me._ ‘So, what’s first? Chest? Biceps?’ He flexed each set of muscles in turn, his eyes dancing but never leaving hers.

She forced herself to look at the list. ‘Neck circumference.’

 _‘Neck circumference?!’_ repeated Jaime.

‘For your collar and cravat, I suppose.’

‘Oh. Well, _that’s_ distinctly unsexy. Okay then, wench, here I am. Try not to strangle me, there’s a dear.’

‘Must I?’ she muttered. He sniggered. Hesitantly, she took a step closer to him and, gripping the tape measure, she took a deep breath and resolutely slipped her arm around the back of his neck. Then she brought up her other hand to meet it, took hold of the tape and brought the two ends together, remembering to slide two fingers underneath so as not to pull it too tight. Jaime suddenly went very still. His neck was warm, so warm under her fingers, and she could feel his pulse clearly. It seemed to be racing a little. Maybe he was genuinely scared that she would garrotte him.

Brienne noted the number and released him so that she could write it down on the clipboard. ‘Okay, now I need you to stand up and turn around,’ she said, reading down the list. ‘I’ve got to measure your back from shoulder to shoulder and from collar to jacket hem.’

Silently, Jaime turned. Brienne placed the tip of the measure on one shoulder and stretched it across, feeling his muscles ripple under the grey fabric. A sudden urge to run her hand across them swept through her, but she fought it back, mortified. At this distance, she could see a few silver strands among the gold of his hair. _It is real after all._ She looked at the tape measure. _No, that couldn’t be right._ She repeated the process, carefully taking the measurement again. _Oh. No, it was right. His shoulders were just THAT broad._

‘Collar to jacket hem,’ she murmured. _Jacket hem? Wouldn’t that be somewhere around his… bottom? I CAN’T touch him there. I just can’t._

Fortunately, Jaime spoke up. ‘I think for this period, the coats come to just above the knee. If that helps.’

‘Oh, right, thanks,’ she managed. But then another problem occurred to her. She glanced down. Yep, his ass was kind of… round. _Gods, I want to touch it now._ ‘Do I, um, measure it in a straight line from top to – um, hem?’ she asked with difficulty. ‘Or does it have to, you know, _fit?_ Around your, um, shape?’

Jaime shot her an amused glance over his shoulder. ‘I think straight is fine, wench. I’m sure Loras will have a grand old time adjusting things to my _shape_ , as you put it, later on.’ He winked again.

Brienne gulped and quickly darted back behind him to hide her blush, taking the measurement as quickly as she could. Then her next look at the list sobered her mood. She moved round to look Jaime full in the eye.

‘Okay, Jaime, it’s the sleeves now,’ she said gently. ‘Are you ready?’

He held her gaze and breathed slowly. One inhale, one exhale. Then he gave a sharp nod.

‘I won’t actually touch it if you don’t want me to,’ Brienne went on. He nodded again. ‘Do you want me to do the left first, or the right?’

He swallowed hard. ‘Left.’

Carefully, Brienne took the two measurements as Loras had set them out – _shoulder to elbow, elbow to back of hand._ Her fingers brushed his skin. It seemed to tingle. Jaime watched her face the whole time. She wrote down the measurements and then moved around to his right arm. He seemed fine when she touched the tape measure to the corner of his shoulder blade, but when she reached his elbow his whole body tensed and he flinched away.

‘Brienne’ – he croaked out.

‘It’s okay, Jaime,’ she crooned. It was like soothing a spooked animal. ‘That’s the same as the other one, anyway,’ she murmured reassuringly as she jotted it down. She looked seriously into his face. ‘Now the last part, okay? Then we’ll move on to the easier ones.’

‘What’s that imbecile written?’ he asked tensely.

She couldn’t tell him about _‘elbow to ?’_.

‘Elbow to wrist’, she lied kindly.

He grimaced. ‘Can’t you just subtract an inch or two off the other arm measurement?’ he asked in a pleading tone.

Her heart ached for him. ‘It wouldn’t be accurate,’ she said softly. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll be _so_ quick, I promise. Give me your arm. Please. It’s fine, Jaime. It’s fine.’

Breathing heavily, he averted his face and held out his maimed arm. She placed the tape measure as close as she could without touching him, and with one sure, rapid movement she stretched it out until it was level with the apex of his stump. She made a mental note of the figure and then took a step away.

‘Done,’ she said.

He turned – doleful, haunted eyes and his teeth biting down so hard on his lower lip that she was afraid he might draw blood.

‘Done?’ he repeated doubtfully.

‘Well, yes, the sleeves. I still need to do your chest and waist, and then you can put your hoodie back on. It’s all okay. We’re nearly finished, I promise. Just let me write this down.’

She wrote down the measurement on the sheet, then, with a glance to check that Jaime wasn’t watching, she angrily scribbled out Loras’ question mark and wrote the word ‘wrist’ in clear capital letters.

 _‘Chest’_ was the next item on the list. _Chest. Chest._ A vision of the golden skin and hair which she had glimpsed seemed to entirely fill her mind’s eye. She stepped towards him again.

‘You might need to, um, lift your arms,’ she said uncertainly.

He obliged without a word. The t-shirt rode up a little. There were abs there, she knew, and this time she caught a glimpse of his black underwear elastic again above the waistband of his jeans, but she resolved not to look.

She stretched out with the tape measure but quickly realized that she wasn’t actually close enough to get it around him. Shuffling as close as she dared, she tried again, attempting to position the tape around what appeared to be the widest and most muscular part of Jaime’s body. She could _feel…things_ under the fabric. Things like glorious planes of muscle and small pebbled nipples and the slightly erratic beating of his heart. Her breasts were barely more than an inch away from him. He was staring at her face with an unreadable expression.

‘Is this okay?’ she asked, surprised by how breathy her voice sounded.

‘Ah – you, um’ – he croaked hoarsely. ‘A bit - tighter, maybe? Fitted waistcoat, and all that.’ He took a couple of rapid breaths. She glanced at his face. There were two pinks spots on his cheeks, clearly visible above the beard growth, and his eyes looked strange.

‘Right. Like this?’ she gave the tape measure a slight tug.

He winced a little, but grunted, ‘Yep.’

Belatedly, Brienne remembered to look at the measurement, but decided that the thought of going away to write it down and then coming back to start this all over again was too daunting. ‘I’m, um, just going to move straight down to your waist,’ she said. Breathing still seemed to be problematic, _and was it getting hot in here?_

Jaime’s face froze as she slid the tape measure down a few inches to settle just above his jeans. _On his abs. That fucking amazing six-pack. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it._

‘Is it here?’ she asked.

This time, Jaime let out a small, strangled squeak of agreement.

Brienne frowned. ‘Tighter?’ she enquired.

Some kind of excruciated grimace passed over his face. ‘’S fine,’ he squeaked. ‘Are you done yet?’

‘Um, almost. We’ve just got your inseam to measure and then’ –

‘Oh gods be good,’ he murmured and wrenched himself out of her grasp. He grabbed his hoodie and began to wrestle himself into it, his back to her.

 _What have I said now?_ she wondered. _Oh gods, of course. He’s still sitting here with his stump exposed and I told him he could put the hoodie back on ages ago. Gods, I’m so insensitive. If only he didn’t have those damned muscles and that ridiculous hair, I’d be able to think properly._

She went to write down his chest and waist measurements on the sheet, shooting worried glances at Jaime. His back was still turned, however, and he appeared to be frantically adjusting his clothing, though his chief area of concern, she noted with some surprise, seemed to be not the right sleeve of the hoodie but its lower front hem.

‘Um – whenever you’re ready, then,’ she offered tentatively after what seemed like a very long pause. Jaime’s head spun around. He looked somewhat panicked.

‘Inseam?’ she prompted, though not without a blush. She’d sat through enough 70s comedy reruns with her father to know all the jokes surrounding the measuring of men’s inseams.

‘Um, wench’ – he began shakily.

‘Look,’ she said. She’d been thinking about this and had worked out a strategy. ‘How about you hold it, and I just go down and take your length?’

His eyebrows shot up almost into his hairline.

 _‘Sorry??’_ he rasped.

She sighed. _Why did he always act stupid and force her to say embarrassing things in order to explain herself?_

‘It’s not rocket science,’ she grumbled. ‘You hold the tape measure at the, you know, top end, and I’ll hold it against the hem of your trousers and we can take the measurement that way.’

‘Oh. _Oh._ Right. Of course.’ He seemed to release a breath, and held out his hand for the tape measure. She dutifully passed him the lower end of it, and after a moment’s hesitation he turned his back again and slowly moved his hand up under his hoodie. She averted her eyes.

‘Ready?’ she asked again.

‘As I’ll ever be,’ he muttered.

Brienne was confused. This somehow seemed to be affecting him worse than the sleeve, which made no sense at all. ‘Okay,’ she said, attempting the same reassuring tone which had worked before. ‘So now I’m just going to’ – she dropped to her knees in front of him.

Jaime immediately tensed again, muttered a long and fervent-sounding imprecation to all the gods under his breath, and finally bit down hard on his lip.

Brienne looked up in concern. ‘Am I doing something wrong?’

‘Oh for the love of the fucking Seven, will you write down the number and _get the fuck up off the floor, PLEASE, Brienne?’_ he panted in the most desperate hiss she’d heard him use yet.

Brienne scuttled away from him and turned to the measurements sheet, ashamed to find there were tears pricking the backs of her eyes. _Why is he angry with me?_ she wondered miserably as she wrote down the numbers, scarcely having the heart to even notice the impressive length of Jaime’s leg as she did so. _I thought I’d won his trust, but now I’ve upset him again somehow._

Jaime had turned his back again and appeared to be deliberately blowing out breaths in an effort to calm his temper. Finally he said, in a still somewhat shaky voice, ‘So is that everything? Can I go now?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ she whispered. ‘Look, Mr – um, I mean Jaime, I’m’ – she turned the paper over in her hand. ‘Oh no. Wait,’ she sighed. ‘He’s written here: shoe size’ –

‘46,’ he grunted tersely.

She glanced at him and scribbled it down. ‘Um, hat size?’

Jaime’s eyebrows rose in a pained expression. ‘Just put ‘Extra large’, wench,’ he joked weakly. ‘I know that’s what you’re thinking.’

Brienne moved her pen to the paper and then froze.

‘What is it?’ he asked. She hesitated. ‘Come on, wench. Spit it out.’

Brienne gulped. ‘It says ‘glove size’’, she confessed apologetically.

He stared. ‘You have to be fucking kidding me.’

‘It’s for the mourning scene,’ she explained, in utter misery. ‘Look, don’t worry,’ she added hurriedly when she saw his expression. ‘I’ll talk to Loras. No, I’ll talk to Catelyn. We’re doing that scene this afternoon. I’ll fix it. Don’t worry.’

He gave her a long, searching look and scratched his beard. Brienne felt desolate. After everything, they seemed to have arrived back at the point where they’d started before Loras had left the room.

Eventually, Jaime shrugged. ‘You don’t need to fight _all_ my battles for me, wench,’ he sighed, with a small, sad smile.

Brienne blushed crimson. ‘I’m not. I mean, I’m just trying to help. For the good of the show.’ It sounded like a weak excuse even to her own ears.

Jaime yawned. ‘Join me for a coffee?’ he asked wearily.

‘Oh.’ Suddenly she wished for nothing more than to get out of his presence for a while. There seemed to be less air than normal when he was around, and it was stifling. ‘Sorry, I’ve, um – got to get the set ready,’ she mumbled. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

‘Right,’ intoned Jaime dejectedly, as though he had been expecting nothing less.

‘See you at rehearsal then!’ cried Brienne wildly, and grabbing the clipboard and tape measure, she dashed from the room before she had a chance to change her mind.

She stalked back to Loras’ desk.

‘You’re an insensitive shit, Loras,’ she grunted, dumping the items in front of him. He looked up, startled. Brienne placed her hands on either side of the desk and leaned over him, utilizing the full power of her height. ‘Don’t _ever_ put either me or Jaime through that again, please. Do you hear me?’

‘Ooh, _‘Jaime’_ , is it?’ said Loras mockingly.

Brienne blushed but stood her ground. ‘I am the stage manager on this show. And _Mr Lannister_ is its star. Please _don’t_ take out your frustrations on other people just because your boyfriend didn’t get the leading role. Show a bit of respect.’ Pent-up emotions were suddenly making her feel absolutely livid.

One of Loras’s eyebrows slid slowly upwards, in a perfect mirror of his sister’s almost habitual expression. ‘Watch out, Brienne,’ he said coldly. ‘A guy like Jaime Lannister is bad news, and he’d chew you up and spit you out. You know that, right? Word of advice – keep it professional, or I might just have to have words with Catelyn. Neither Renly nor I take very kindly to being screwed around by a novice stage manager who’s developed a newfound ambition to be a starfucker. Okay?’ and with that he rose and walked away, leaving Brienne dumbstruck and redder than she had ever been in her life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I coudn't resist the dusty fuck. My original version had Jaime say 'Screw theatrical protocol', but, y'know - reasons. Sorry.


	7. The truth is rarely pure, and never simple.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's life begins to catch up with him, while Margaery's scheming starts to pay off. Brienne is just a mess, frankly.
> 
> Starting off with a little bit of Tyrion POV just to change it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, sorry, another long wait but here's the reason - this chapter is double the length of any of the previous ones. I tried cutting various bits out but it just didn't work so in the end I left it all in.
> 
> I was overwhelmed by the love for the last chapter. Don't hate me for this one. :-)

**_The truth is rarely pure, and never simple._ **

****

Tyrion rocked on his heels and smiled as he gazed out across the rooftops of a King’s Landing sunset and poured himself another glass of Arbor Red. There were distinct advantages, he mused as he lifted it to his lips, in coming from the richest family in Westeros and having one of its biggest stars as his chief client. Not least among these was being able to afford a penthouse apartment in one of the city’s prime districts. Who cared about being four feet tall if at the end of the day one could look down with amusement on the lives of everyone below?

The sound of his phone ringing penetrated his brain through the slight wine-induced fug. Finally locating the device after some fumbling, he peered at the screen with slightly unfocused eyes. It was a number he didn’t recognise, but it wasn’t uncommon in his line of work to receive unsolicited calls from hopeful actors, even out of hours like this, and Tyrion never turned anyone down without at least giving them a fair hearing.

‘Tyrion Lannister,’ he slurred into the phone.

‘Where is he?’ hissed a voice, soft and snakelike.

Tyrion swayed slightly, his lip curling in distaste. ‘I’m sorry, who is this?’ he asked, although he knew instantly. Jaime’s most persistent paparazzo stalker had never gone to the lengths of contacting _him_ before, but then again he’d never before spirited Jaime out of King’s Landing on a project of which even their father was unaware. ‘Where’s who?’ he enquired innocently. ‘Azor Ahai? Not been seen around these parts lately, sorry.’

‘You know perfectly well who this is, Lannister. I’m looking for your asshole brother. I’ve been camped outside his house for almost three weeks now and he’s not there. I’ve made my enquiries. He’s not at the other apartment either, and the Summer Isles villa is let. I’ve been round all the studios in town and he’s not away filming anything. So where is he?’

‘Ah, Mr Bolton!’ exclaimed Tyrion as though in surprise. He knocked back another mouthful of wine. ‘How nice of you to pollute us with your presence. What makes you think I know where Jaime is?’

‘You may as well tell me,’ sneered Bolton. ‘You know I’ll find out eventually anyway.’

‘Ah,’ said Tyrion, ‘allow me to rephrase. What I meant to say is, what makes you think that if I knew where Jaime was – which I am neither confirming nor denying, you understand – that I would tell you? Though, since you claim to be able to find out anyway, I must confess to some confusion as to why you’re troubling yourself with calling me. Isn’t there some more compliant victim out of whom you could torture the information, in your time-honoured fashion?’

‘Gods, you’re a shit, Lannister,’ the voice growled. ‘You and your brother deserve each other.’

Tyrion chortled. ‘Well, _you_ , my dear fellow, are a pustule upon a pox upon a scourge on the lowest form of pond life,’ he retorted merrily. ‘An insult to the gentlemen, ladies, dogs and cockroaches of the journalistic profession. Now do fuck off, there’s a good chap. Jaime is somewhere far out of your reach, for once, and I need to go and disinfect my brain after speaking to you.’

‘He can’t have gone _that_ far,’ said Bolton slyly. ‘He’s taken the car.’

Tyrion hiccupped in surprise. ‘What’s that now?’

An evil laugh wormed its way through the airwaves. ‘Ohhh, you didn’t think I’d notice? He’s taken the car. His driver – Snow – he’s not been seen for weeks either.’

‘And how in the hells would you know that?’

‘Oh, my son Ramsay’s a clever boy, you know, Lannister. Maybe cleverer than you like to think you are. I had him pose as a chauffeur and infiltrate the ranks of the celebrity ‘help’. He found out all the cafes and bars where they all hang out. Been drinking with them for months. He’s got all the low-down. Enough to keep me in business for years, the stuff I know now, I can tell you. And the word on the street is, Jon Snow went AWOL around the same time as your brother.’

‘Have you ever thought of taking up a profession more suited to your natural temperament, Bolton?’ asked Tyrion in a bitter slur, draining the last of his wine. ‘Kindergarten teaching? Grief counselling, perhaps?’

‘So,’ Bolton continued, ignoring him. ‘Jaime’s gone somewhere within driving distance. Unlikely to be a vacation then, so it’s work. But he’s not making a movie. Can’t imagine anyone wants him for a modelling shoot these days. TV? Possibly? Or something more unusual?’ He paused, perhaps to see whether Tyrion would take the bait, but he managed to stay silent. ‘Never mind, I’ll find out,’ Bolton continued in the same hypnotic hiss. ‘Let’s pin down the location first. Where would he drive to, instead of flying? Stormlands?’

Tyrion chuckled nastily. ‘Oh, you are _cold_ , Bolton. So cold. You’ll never guess. Just give it up.’

‘The Vale? Riverlands?’

Tyrion cackled. He felt gleeful, if a little hazy. ‘Colder!’ he cried delightedly. ‘Colder!!’

 _‘Colder?’_ repeated Bolton suddenly, alert. ‘Interesting. The North, then?’

Tyrion hiccupped again. There was silence. He blinked a little, confused.

‘Oh _Tyrion_ ,’ came Bolton’s triumphant voice. ‘You really are a little gem. Your daddy must be _so_ proud.’ And the line went dead.

 _Fuck_ , wondered Tyrion blearily. _What did I just do?_

*******************************************

 

Brienne had been avoiding Loras for two tense days – which was no mean feat, considering that his desk was only a few feet away from hers.

Sandor’s announcement that the flats had arrived and they were ready to begin construction of the set couldn’t have been more timely, and so she had spent the mornings outside in the small area behind the stage door, hammering, drilling, painting and papering, and managing the small team of student helpers whom Sam Tarly had managed to drum up. She relished both the physical activity, the opportunity to stay out of Loras’s way, and the distraction from the irritatingly persistent thoughts which caused her to flush with mortification whenever she allowed them access.

Loras’ words kept ringing in her ears. _Starfucker_ , he had called her. It was outrageous, of course. It wasn’t as though she had actual… _designs_ on Jaime. As if there would be any hope for her, even if she did. _‘Jaime Lannister is bad news._ _He’d chew you up and spit you out._ _You know that, right?’_ Of course she knew. Which was why she _absolutely wasn’t_ thinking about it. Not about his chest or his smile or his abs or the warmth of his skin or his thrice-damned golden hair or the way he had looked at her body.

None of which changed the fact that for the third day running, she was contemplating spending her lunch break hiding in the toilets so as to be sure of not bumping into Loras. _Or Jaime_ , whispered her brain, before she willed herself to stop.

The first afternoon’s rehearsal had been the worst. Renly had a face like thunder and kept shooting her dagger looks. Margaery looked worried. Brienne buried her nose in her script and hoped that Catelyn wouldn’t notice anything, which fortunately she seemed not to.

Jaime was another problem entirely. Not only did she suddenly find herself completely unable to look at him without going hot all over, but she was uncertain as to how they had actually left things at the end of the costume fitting. Something had definitely seemed off with him. Had she overstepped some mark? Did he want her to speak to Catelyn about the scene with the mourning gloves? Should she just back off and let him deal with it himself? Would he be angry? Why did she even care? Was Loras right and she was getting way too personally involved?

Once or twice she thought she felt Jaime’s eyes on her, but every time she glanced up, wondering if he were maybe trying to catch her eye in silent communication about something, he immediately looked away and appeared to be engrossed in something else.

Frankly, the whole day felt like a massive rollercoaster ride of confusing emotions and she wished it would end. So when Catelyn called the somewhat tense rehearsal to an early close, Brienne scurried out of the door, glad of an excuse to leave the building before Loras could realise she was gone.

The next day’s rehearsal was dedicated to the big scene between Margaery and Ygritte. Catelyn had given the rest of the cast the day off to learn their lines – a development which left Brienne feeling simultaneously relieved and oddly bereft. The theatre felt disturbingly quiet without Jaime around, and she found herself trying to drown out the silence by hammering the scenery with such ferocity that Sandor laughed and told her to ease off in case she damaged the flimsy wood.

On Wednesday morning she arrived early at work to find a terse email from Loras.

_Brienne,_

_A reminder please that I am still waiting to take your measurements for costume purposes. This is now a matter of some urgency. Would appreciate your response soonest,_

_Loras_

She was immediately wracked with guilt and shame. She had been allowing her personal feelings to interfere with the interests of the show, which was hugely unprofessional of her. Even so, the thought of facing Loras again, one-to-one – especially in _that_ setting, after her experience with Jaime – still filled her with utter mortification.

The sound of approaching footsteps forced her to make a beeline for the toilets, where she blew out a few calming breaths, thought for a minute, and then pulled out her phone and typed a text.

_Hey Sansa, could I ask a favour? I need someone to help me take my measurements for my costume. Would you have some time to spare today to help me out please? Thanks so much!_

_Sure, no prob._ _:-)_ came back Sansa’s reply a few moments later. Then, after a few seconds, another text. _Why not Loras? Just curious._ _:-)_

Brienne hesitated. If she admitted to Sansa that she and Loras had had a falling out, then word would certainly get back to Margaery, and Brienne didn’t want to stir up any more trouble. Besides, the fewer people who knew about this whole embarrassing business, the better.

 _I just feel more comfortable with a woman_ , she typed. It wasn’t strictly untrue. _You free at lunchtime?_

 _Sure, meet me at the caff at 1. xoxo,_ replied Sansa.

Brienne spent the morning setting up the rehearsal room for Act Three, then joined Sandor outside for some further set-painting work before a squalling rain shower sent them scurrying to get the newly-painted flats safely into the dry storage space at the back of the auditorium.

Once this was done, Brienne checked her watch and discovered that it was almost one o’clock. She quickly headed over to the cafeteria - forgetting that she was still dressed in her thick, paint-covered decorator’s overalls, fingerless gloves and steel-toed boots – and made her way through the noisy crowds of students towards the company’s habitual group of tables in the corner.

Sansa, Margaery and Ygritte were seated at one end of the table, heads huddled together conspiratorially, occasionally giggling and glancing further a few seats along, where she was surprised to see Jon Snow sitting with Sam, an open laptop between them. Sam appeared to be trying to explain something animatedly to Jon, but was continuously interrupted by Jon raising his head to gaze cow-eyed at Ygritte whenever he thought she wasn’t looking.

Unusual though this scene was, it was nothing to that at the far end of the table, where Stannis was tucking happily into what looked like a curry, a steaming mug beside him, while nodding animatedly and smiling – _smiling!_ – at his conversational partner. The latter had his back to Brienne but the baggy green sweater and gleaming golden head were unmistakeable. Jaime was leaning back in his chair, long legs outstretched, arms folded comfortably against his stomach while he talked. Both men looked thoroughly relaxed and not at all as though they were the least likely pairing ever to be found deep in conversation over lunch.

Brienne couldn’t help faltering in her tracks at the sight. She didn’t think she’d ever even seen Stannis in the cafeteria before. She knew for a fact that he didn’t drink caffeine and regarded any kind of eating out as a frivolous waste of money.

Margaery spotted her and waved her over.

‘Hi, Brienne,’ she said in a mischievous sounding voice. ‘How are _things?’_

‘Things?’ repeated Brienne blankly, and then turned scarlet with realisation. Margaery must have asked Loras what was going on with her and Renly at Monday’s rehearsal. Which meant that Loras must have shared his theory about Brienne’s ‘intentions’ towards Jaime. _Which was completely inaccurate._ _Completely_.

She gulped and resisted the temptation to turn her head in Jaime’s direction. _I’m going to have to rise above this,_ she thought, _or I may just have to resign out of sheer embarrassment._ ‘I’m fine. I, um, I just need Sansa for, um, something.’

‘Oh, right, yeah. I’ll just get my stuff,’ trilled Sansa merrily.

Margaery’s eyebrow rose, and Brienne detected some kind of sharp movement beneath the table. Sansa squealed abruptly and glared at Margaery.

‘What?’ she asked crossly.

‘Ygritte,’ murmured Margaery, ‘Operation J is go.’ She glared at Sansa.

‘Right, yeah. On it,’ grinned Ygritte. ‘It’s a tough job but I guess someone’s got to, am I right?’ With a wink at Brienne she rose, circled the end of the table, and plonked herself down next to a startled-looking Jon Snow, leaning close to whisper in his ear. Brienne watched as a slow smile spread across his features.

There was another soft squeal from the table and then Sansa said abruptly, ‘Oh, Brienne, um, sorry, I mean, I can’t do your costume thing right now.’ She was rubbing her leg. ‘I’m, um, I’ve, um – busy. Yeah. Can we do it after rehearsal? Er - five o’clock?’ she looked to Margaery for apparent confirmation before turning to Brienne.

‘Oh, okay, yes, I can do that. Thanks,’ said Brienne, blushing for a reason she wasn’t entirely clear about.

Margaery was smiling. ‘Oh, and, she’s really, really slow at it,’ she added. ‘Aren’t you, Sansa?’

Sansa frowned, then giggled. ‘Oh. Yes. Sorry!’ She gave a little shrug.

‘Oh. Um, that’s okay,’ said Brienne, confused. ‘I really appreciate your help.’

‘Oh I’m _more than_ happy to help,’ beamed Sansa.

‘Sorry, am I missing something?’ Brienne queried.

‘Oh, you know me,’ said Margaery wickedly. ‘I can’t seem to resist meddling in other people’s love lives. Got to help them along when they’re clueless. You know.’ She winked.

‘She means Ygritte and Jon,’ put in Sansa hurriedly. Margaery shot her a long-suffering look.

‘Right,’ murmured Brienne. She looked up towards the pair in question once again, only to find her gaze colliding with a penetrating green one at the other end of the table. She swallowed hard and attempted a weak smile in Jaime’s direction. In return, he produced a blinding grin which made her face burn and her knees wobble.

Stannis looked up. ‘Ah, Brienne!’ he called.

She walked across with leaden feet, feeling as though the whole room was watching her, although in reality it was only Jaime, Sam, and probably Margaery and Sansa. _Which was more than enough._

‘Hello, wench!’ exclaimed Jaime warmly, his grin never wavering. ‘Long time no see. Nice outfit.’

 _Gods, can this get any worse?_ she wondered desperately, glancing down in horror at her shapeless blue overalls and suddenly realising that she probably had paint on her face and in her hair.

She scowled. ‘I’ve been hammering flats together,’ she muttered, not trusting herself to look at him. ‘What would you suggest I wear? A miniskirt and high heels?’

He looked her up and down. ‘I don’t know,’ he responded thoughtfully. ‘Do you look good in a miniskirt and high heels?’

‘No,’ she replied firmly. She dared a glance at his face and saw something strange and predatory-looking there.

‘Oh, come on, wench,’ he drawled. ‘I find that hard to believe. You’ve got long enough legs for it. Anyway, I like the blue. Goes with your eyes.’

Brienne’s scowl deepened. _Gods, did he HAVE to do this NOW, in front of Stannis, of all people?_ she thought miserably. Stannis appeared to be watching them both with something approaching amusement.

‘How was your day off, Mr Lannister - er, Jaime?’ she forced out, desperate to change the subject.

‘Oh, it was a veritable roller-coaster of non-stop activity and excitement. You know how it is.’

‘So you sat in your hotel room and did absolutely nothing, then?’

To her surprise, Jaime cackled with laughter. Stannis’s eyebrows shot up.

‘Well,’ he said, sounding amused, ‘I can see that you weren’t exaggerating, Jaime. Our young Brienne here does seem to be keeping you well in line, as you suggest.’

‘Wait - have you two been discussing me?’ she asked hotly.

Jaime bit his lip and looked unexpectedly sheepish.

‘Now, now,’ said Stannis in a soothing tone. ‘Nothing untoward, I assure you. Jai - ah, Mr Lannister was just telling me what sterling work you’ve been doing on tackling his blocking issues. Very commendable. I’m really beginning to think that you may have the makings of an excellent stage manager, Brienne.’

Brienne blinked, uncertain whose praise was the more surprising.

‘You don’t, um, disapprove, then? Of us changing the set and the blocking around?’ she asked Stannis.

‘No, no, on the contrary,’ he exclaimed, with something which was perilously close to a beam on his face. ‘I think it’s most admirable. Theatre is, after all, a most capricious mistress, isn’t she, Jaime? Forever presenting us with new challenges to keep us on our artistic toes, as it were.’

‘Quite right, Stannis, quite right,’ she heard Jaime agree solemnly. ‘Couldn’t have put it better myself.’

 _What in the seven hells is happening?_ she wondered.

‘Mr Lannister and I have been discussing Catelyn’s proposed script changes,’ Stannis continued, as though he had heard her question. ‘He, I am pleased to say, shares my opinion that the script should remain in its original form.’

‘Except for the gloves part,’ put in Jaime, somewhat anxiously.

‘Except, of course, where prevailing physical conditions prevent it,’ corrected Stannis smoothly. ‘But Mr Lannister is of the firm belief that the locations in the script should not be tampered with. We intend to petition Catelyn about it again tomorrow. May we count on your support, Brienne?’

Brienne looked at Jaime, who was blinking up at her with a puppy-dog expression. ‘Go on, wench,’ he urged. ‘You know you want to.’

Brienne frowned, worried. Stannis and Jaime forming an alliance was a surprising development to say the least, and she wasn’t sure where her loyalties should lie. ‘I don’t know,’ she said at last. ‘It does kind of seem like going against Catelyn’s wishes. I’m not sure I can do that.’

Jaime bit down on his lip in response and actually _batted his eyelashes_ at her.

_His eyelashes are dark with golden tips. His eyes have flecks of gold in them. Oh gods. Breathe._

‘For _me?_ ’ he pleaded innocently. ‘I mean, I’ve already learned all my lines. I’m going to get confused if I have to change them now. Plus, it’s _stupid_ ,’ he added in a more normal Jaime voice.

Brienne agonised for a few moments longer, but – _his eyes, his smile -_ it was all simply too much.

‘Okay,’ she sighed. ‘You’re probably right, anyway. I just hate the thought of contradicting Catelyn. I couldn’t bear it if she was upset with me.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, wench, I’ll take the blame,’ scoffed Jaime cheerfully. ‘She already hates me anyway, so I’ve got nothing to lose. Are we on for our session now?’

Brienne stepped backwards involuntarily and dropped her gaze, unable to look at him any longer. ‘Oh. No. We’ve already covered everything. So you’re off the hook.’

‘Oh.’ He sounded displeased.

She shifted from foot to foot. ‘I’d, um, better get going. I’ve got lots to do.’

‘Yes, yes, a stage manager’s work is never done,’ exclaimed Stannis amiably, rising. ‘Jaime, another espresso? I must confess that I was extremely interested in what you were saying about the use of postmodern theatrical tropes in Dornish arthouse cinema. Would you have the time to expand, perhaps? I think I’ll have another herbal tea. Do keep up the good work, Brienne.’ He patted her on the shoulder and all but propelled her towards the door.

The last thing she heard before the general hubbub drowned them out was Jaime replying, ‘Gladly, Stannis, gladly,’ in a distracted-sounding tone.

*********************************************************

Rehearsal passed without incident, although Renly was still somewhat frosty, and as soon as it was over Brienne headed off to find Sansa, armed with a spare tape measure from the company toolkit.

Margaery really hadn’t been kidding when she said Sansa was slow at measuring. Brienne had been too embarrassed to ask Loras for an actual list of the measurements he required of her, but having seen his list for Jaime’s costume, she thought it would be a simple matter to convert these to what was needed for female attire. With Sansa’s knowledge of fashion, she had seemed the ideal person to ask to help.

But Sansa fussed and fluffed and giggled and asked a never-ending series of questions, some of which were so ridiculous that Brienne began to wonder whether she were doing it on purpose.

Eventually, after an enormous amount of fuss and bother, she had a list of measurements which looked nearly three times as long as the one which Brienne had made for Jaime. Brienne thanked her politely, concealing her annoyance, and returned to her desk, having first checked that Loras was nowhere around, but everyone had left for the day and the rest of the building was silent and dark. She copied Sansa’s measurements into a spreadsheet, emailed it to Loras with an apology for its tardiness, then switched off her computer and went back to find Sansa so that she could walk her out, but found that she, too, had now vanished without even saying goodbye.

By now it was almost six o’clock, and her first realization on stepping out through the staff exit was that it was now not only dark but also raining viciously. Her second realization was that she hadn’t put her sweater back on when she changed out of her overalls earlier – she blushed at the memory of her lunchtime conversation with Jaime – and that her thin jacket and t-shirt weren’t going to be much protection against the elements as she cycled home.

She had taken two steps back towards the door in order to retrieve it when a figure emerged from the shadows in the stage doorway – the only place at the back of the building which afforded some shelter from the rain. It was Jaime, wearing a dark leather jacket, and a ridiculous red beanie hat pulled down over his hair. He was pacing up and down with his right arm stuffed in the jacket pocket and his phone clamped to his left ear, muttering furiously under his breath.

At the sight of her he pulled the phone away, took two menacing strides towards her and demanded angrily, ‘Have you seen Jon?’

She shook her head. ‘Why?’

‘Because he’s not here. _Obviously._ He was supposed to pick me up ages ago. I’ve been calling him for about twenty minutes but he’s not answering. I can’t imagine where in the hells he’s got to.’

Brienne’s eyes flew wide open as she realized that she possibly had a very good idea of where Jon was, or at least with whom. _Damn Margaery._ She said she couldn’t resist meddling, but why would she arrange what was presumably a seduction at precisely the time of day when Jon was needed to work?What was wrong with later? _Then I wouldn’t have to deal with Jaime right now. Should I tell him?_ she wondered. _No, he’d probably fire Jon and it’s not his fault._

‘What’s the matter?’ grunted Jaime ungraciously . ‘You look like you just swallowed a dragon’s egg or something.’

‘I – I was just wondering why you’ve been waiting here for twenty minutes.’

He stared. ‘I’ve been waiting for _forty_ minutes,’ he corrected, as though that made it better. ‘I only snapped and started calling him after twenty.’

Brienne huffed. ‘Why didn’t you just walk back? Really, Jaime, it’s a five minute walk.’ _Hadn’t she had this exact conversation with him once before?_ The cold, the rain, and his troubling presence were all combining to make her feel uneasy and irritable. ‘Does Jon normally drive you three times around the one-way system or something so that you don’t realize how close it is, to justify his wages?’

He glared at her, then looked at the ground. There was a pause, then eventually he muttered quietly, ‘I know where it is. I just can’t walk back. It’s dark.’

‘What are you talking about?’

He raised his eyes to hers. ‘Aren’t you listening? _I can’t_ walk around in the dark by myself.’ He exhaled and gritted his teeth. ‘Not since – not since I was attacked.’

Brienne let her head drop backwards and sighed. She wasn’t sure whether she felt like hugging him, kicking herself for her own stupidity, or punching him for his stubbornness in refusing the therapy which he so very clearly needed. She was beginning to understand his brother’s frustration.

‘Gods, Jaime,’ she groaned. ‘Is _that_ why you’ve got a driver?’

He glared at her. ‘Hey, I’m entitled. I pay him. It’s all my own money, you know.’

She stared for a moment, a whole plethora of responses to that running through her head. She really was feeling cold and wet though, and wanted nothing more than to be home in her apartment and to banish all Jaime-related thoughts from her mind, if that was still possible.

She sighed. ‘Fine. Come on, I’ll walk you back to your hotel. You can leave Jon a message when we get there.’

 _‘You’ll walk me back?_ Is that supposed to make me feel better?’

‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll protect you. I kick-box.’

‘Oh.’ The ghost of a smile hovered on his lips. ‘Well, I guess that makes you my knight in shining armour.’ He hesitated. ‘How will you get home?’

‘My bike’s parked just over there,’ she said, pointing to the racks across the street. ‘I’ll just come back and get it after.’

He glanced at the sky. ‘Won’t you get wet?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s fine, Jaime. Now come on before I change my mind.’

He fell into step beside her and they crossed and walked to the junction with the main road, where the lights of the Winterfell Towers Hotel were easily visible on the corner of the next major intersection. Brienne was glad of the rain and the noise of the rush-hour traffic, as the latter rendered conversation almost impossible, and the former gave her an excuse to keep her head down and not look at Jaime. Being alone with him now seemed to send her into a state of heightened awareness, where his every word, look or movement affected her somehow, and between that and the way he seemed to pop into her head roughly every three seconds whenever he _wasn’t_ around, she felt exhausted. She just wanted it to stop.

It seemed all too soon, even so, before they were rounding the corner to the hotel’s entrance, when Jaime suddenly darted back and flattened himself against the wall, cop-show style, motioning for her to do the same.

‘Fuck,’ he breathed.

 _Oh gods, what now?_ she thought. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Keep your voice down,’ he hissed, rather unnecessarily, since their voices were barely audible over the sound of cars and buses swishing and rumbling along the wet road. Slowly he edged forward, stuck his head tentatively around the corner, then rapidly withdrew it again.

 _‘Fuck,’_ he repeated. ‘Fuck fuck fuck. I can’t go in. Or not the front way, at least.’

She sighed and attempted to keep the irritation out of her voice. ‘Why not? Why are we hiding?’

‘I’ve just seen the person I want to see least in the entire universe, that’s all. Well, maybe second least.’ He paused slightly, then tilted his head. ‘Third least.’

‘Who?’

He looked over his shoulder at her. ‘Roose Bolton,’ he spat with distaste.

‘Who’s Roose Bolton?’

He gave her another sharp glance. ‘You don’t know? Well, that’s something, I suppose.’ He sighed. ‘Roose Bolton is a particularly obnoxious and persistent so-called journalist who’s made it his life’s work to pursue, torment and generally abuse me. And he’s currently standing _right outside_ the door to my hotel, right here in Winterfell. He wasn’t supposed to know I’m up here. Nobody was. Tyrion was supposed to be keeping it a secret and throwing them all off the scent, the little bastard. I’m going to fucking kill him. He knows Bolton’s the bane of my life. Fuck this. I’m going to have to get in through the kitchens now.’

Brienne raised her eyebrows. ‘You can do that?’

‘Oh, it’s been done before, elsewhere. Usually for getting _out_ though. Fairly standard celebrity escape route. But to get _in_ , I’m going to have to call the manager and explain my predicament. Then he can get his security to move Bolton along as well. _Damn_.’ He fumbled in his pocket and then thrust his phone at her, his eyes still trained on the corner. ‘Here, find ‘WT Manager’s Office’ in my contacts, would you, there’s a good wench? I’m hopeless when I’m stressed out.’

‘Jaime, I can’t – this is your personal’ –

‘Just do it,’ he sighed. ‘Please?’

Rolling her eyes, she tapped a few icons on his phone, noting with dismay that he didn’t even seem to have a pass code, and eventually found the requested number. For an actor, let alone a famous one, he had surprisingly few contacts in his list.

‘Shall I call it for you?’

‘No, I can’t call from out here, he might hear my voice or wander round here at any moment.’ He looked wildly all around. ‘Is there anywhere where I can go in and make a couple of calls? I dunno, a bar or something? Which we don’t have to pass the hotel to get to?’

Brienne thought hard. Bars weren’t exactly her area of expertise. Then her eyes fell upon a little basement dive bar across the street, which Sandor had taken them all to for his nameday drinks a few months back.

‘Yes, come on,’ she said and grabbed Jaime’s arm.

Jaime looked a little dubious as she led him down the stone steps, but seemed generally happy to be away from the hotel. He pulled a fifty-dragon note out of his pocket as they entered and handed it to her. The place wasn’t crowded, but there were a few clusters of after-work drinkers scattered about in twos and threes, and a larger group were getting served at the bar.

‘Get two whiskies,’ Jaime ordered, adding when she glared at him, ‘Well, _I_ can’t go up to the bar, can I?’

 _Gods, I want to punch him_ , she thought, clenching her teeth in order to resist the temptation to tell him _yet again_ that he was completely unrecognizable with that awful beard, and the silly beanie hat to boot. ‘I don’t _drink_ whisky,’ she gritted out.

‘Neither do I, very often,’ he retorted. ‘But I’ve had a nasty shock and you’re shivering, so I reckoned we could both do with one. Tell him to keep the change.’

‘Jaime’ –

‘Sshh, don’t use my name where people will hear you,’ he hissed. He scanned the room. ‘Corner table, okay?’ and he scurried off.

Brienne queued glumly at the bar, pondering how on earth she had found herself in this insane situation. _If only Sansa hadn’t been so hopeless at measuring me then I wouldn’t have got landed with this,_ she thought. But then again, if she hadn’t fallen out with Loras in the first place, she wouldn’t have needed to ask for Sansa’s help. And with a sinking feeling in her stomach, she realized that she had fallen out with Loras for precisely the same reason that she had volunteered to walk Jaime back to the hotel, and why she was still here in a dingy bar, dutifully watching over him while he hid from some journalistic stalker. _Because I can’t say no to him. Because I care. Fuck. No. NO._

By the time she had got served and made her way over to where Jaime was sitting – his back to the rest of the room – he was looking slightly more relaxed. ‘Manager says to wait fifteen minutes or so and he’ll have it sorted,’ he announced, indicating his phone, which was lying on the table. ‘I left Tyrion a strongly-worded voicemail. Still can’t get Jon. Bloody hells, what a night. Cheers.’ He took a sip of his whisky, grimaced, then smiled ruefully.

‘I know where Jon is,’ Brienne blurted out.

Jaime’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What?’

‘He’s out with Ygritte. I don’t know where. I think Margaery and Sansa set them up or something. They were talking about it at lunch, just before I spoke to you and Stannis. Sorry.’ She gulped and took what was intended to be a steadying sip of her whisky but it was too large and she coughed. ‘Please don’t fire him,’ she managed to gasp. ‘Jon, I mean.’

Jaime stared for a second or two and then chuckled. ‘You just couldn’t hold that in, could you?’

She blushed. ‘Sorry. I hate lying. I can’t do it. It really wasn’t Jon’s idea though. Can you just let him off with a warning or something? I can have a word with Ygritte too, if you want. Make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

Jaime’s smile was widening. ‘Relax, wench. I’m not one to stand in the way of young love.’ Brienne found herself blushing again. ‘I appreciate you telling me, though. As it happened, it was just as well we were walking. If Jon had dropped me off outside the hotel entrance like he normally does, I’d have run slap-bang into Bolton with no chance of escape. So your little Cupid pals actually did me a favour. It’s a win-win.’

‘But won’t this Bolton guy just come back again tomorrow?’

‘Almost certainly,’ said Jaime grimly. ‘But at least I’ll be prepared.’

‘Won’t there be others? Journalists, I mean? Surely if _one_ knows you’re here, then’ -

He snorted derisively. ‘Oh, you don’t get it at all, do you? Roose Bolton doesn’t pass on information to other journalists. Not for free, anyway. He’s the master of the grand scoop. His sole mission in life is to get the exclusive on anything and everything to do with me and then to hold everyone else to ransom for the details. It’s like having my own personal leech.’

Brienne frowned. ‘What do you mean, his _sole_ mission? Like, he _only_ writes about you? That’s crazy! There can’t be a livelihood in that, can there?’

Jaime looked pained. ‘Wow, wench, I’m almost hurt,’ he quipped. He took a swig of whisky. ‘Do you never read the papers?’

She avoided his eye. ‘Not _those_ kinds of papers,’ she muttered.

He regarded her with what looked like fondness and gave a little smile. ‘Sensible girl,’ he murmured drily. ‘Well, allow me to enlighten you. Apparently, over the years, my exploits have sold more of ‘those kinds of papers’, as you put it, than all of Westeros’s other top celebrities combined. I’m fucking tabloid front page _gold,_ wench. Bolton gets a story about me, or a new photo of me allegedly doing something scandalous, and he can name his price. _Realm! Magazine_ loves him. He goes on talk shows! I swear he’s been on _The Varys Show_ more often than I have. I am literally his life’s work. He even wrote a book about our so-called ‘love-hate relationship’.’ He snorted again. ‘Can you guess what he called it?’

Brienne shook her head mutely.

Jaime’s face formed a bitter grimace. ‘ _The Kingslayer and I_. Seriously.’

Brienne’s mouth opened and closed. Her heart had started pounding in her chest. Working with Jaime and getting – _closer to him? was that what was happening?_ – over the past few weeks, she had tried to shut down the doubtful voices in her head which occasionally reminded her of what she knew about his past. The conversation she’d had with Margaery about it had allayed her fears somewhat, but still she didn’t like it and had done her best to block it out. She had no idea how to process a direct allusion to it from Jaime himself. At the same time, she suddenly found she desperately needed to know the truth.

Jaime looked at her sharply. ‘What?’ His eyebrows slid up and he looked away. ‘ _Oh._ Okay. You’ve got _the_ _look._ ’

She blushed furiously. ‘What _look?_ ’

‘The look I’ve seen on countless interviewers’ faces when I can tell they’re just _dying_ to ask but have been instructed not to.’ He ground his jaw, then pinned her with a piercing gaze and grunted, ‘So fine, ask me. Since we seem to be having a little Honesty Night.’

‘Jaime, it’s none of my’ –

‘Brienne, it’s been _everyone’s_ business for twenty-one fucking years. _Ask me.’_

Brienne took what she thought might possibly be the largest breath she had ever taken, then the words fell out in a rush. ‘Did you know there were live bullets in the gun?’

He didn’t move. Time seemed to stand still, just his green eyes boring into hers as though he were willing her to look into his soul. Eventually, his gaze never once wavering, he said emphatically, ‘It was _bullet_ , singular, and _of course I bloody didn’t_.’ Brienne was just beginning to release the breath she was holding when he leaned forward and added, quietly, but no less assuredly, ‘But let me tell you something I’ve never told a soul. If I _had_ known, or if I could ever have gone back in time and done it all again, knowing what came afterwards, I’d still have pulled that bloody trigger. There.’ He sat back and stared into his whisky.

There was a long silence. Brienne felt her stomach lurch and thought she might actually be sick. Gulping back another too-large mouthful of whisky to fight back the tears which were pricking her eyes, she managed to croak, ‘Why?’

Jaime raised his eyes, slowly. She had never seen him look more serious. He breathed in and out heavily a few times, then asked, ‘You ever wonder why for about the last ten years of his life, Aerys Targaryen made nothing but war films and disaster movies?’

Her eyes widened. _‘What?’_

‘Well, I mean, everyone knew him as a matinee idol, right? All those romantic movies and classical adaptations that he did when he was younger? Greatest actor of the twentieth century? Leading light of Westeros’ foremost theatrical dynasty! A national treasure! Ring any bells? Doesn’t it seem a bit odd to you that an actor like him would be reduced to starring in sub-par action movies in his golden years?’

Brienne shook her head. ‘I – I never thought about it. What does that -?’

‘Have to do with me? Oh, quite a lot. You see, Aerys may have been quite the dashing gent in his youth, I don’t know, but by the time I encountered him, in his sixties, he was crazy. And I’m not talking early-onset Alzheimer’s, Brienne. I mean he was _crazy_. Criminally insane. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

Brienne’s mouth fell open but no words came out.

‘Oh, nobody knew, of course. The public, I mean. In those days, before the internet, it was relatively easy to hush things up, and he must have had an excellent team working for him. But within the industry, it was the worst-kept secret going. There were allegations, none of which ever came to court somehow – rape, child abuse, arson.’ He looked intently into her eyes. ‘Yeah. Because the thing about Aerys was that he was obsessed with fire and pyrotechnics. _That’s_ why he did the action movies. It was entirely his choice – he refused to work on anything which didn’t have fireballs or big explosions in it. He used to spend every spare minute when he wasn’t on set, hanging around the pyrotechnics store, harassing the guys for tips on blowing stuff up. It was fucking scary. Everyone was terrified of him.’

‘I – I didn’t’ –

He ignored her. ‘Of course, when I first got there, I knew nothing about any of this. He hand-picked me for the role, did you know that? I was playing Romeo in a production at school – and I was damned good, if I say so myself – and Aerys came to see it. He was on the board of governors because his son Rhaegar was a former Head Boy. Knew my father, although they didn’t get along – nobody really _gets along_ with my father, but still, this was worse because the Targaryens were like theatrical royalty and the Lannisters were like the movie industry’s _nouveau riche_ bad boys, but we kind of needed each other. Anyway, Aerys sees me in this play and accosts my father afterwards, telling him he wants ‘that boy of yours’ for his next movie.’

He sipped his whisky. ‘Father had always wanted me to work with _him_ , with a view to eventually taking over the production company. All _I_ ever wanted to do was act, but he thought that was for girls. He was happy enough to let my sister become an actress, but the truth was that she just wasn’t that good. It wasn’t until that show, when Aerys showed an interest in me, that Father was forced to admit that I had talent. Then I think he took a good look at my face and suddenly realized he could turn me into a movie star, and gold dragon signs lit up in his eyes. Money is all my father cares about.’

‘And what did _you_ think?’ asked Brienne, finding her voice at last.

‘Oh, I thought all my namedays had come at once,’ he smiled. ‘I was seventeen! The opportunity to act alongside someone as revered as Aerys Targaryen was like a dream come true. He took me under his wing, introduced me to people. I was his protégé on screen and off. I knew I was being groomed for fame, and that meant money, girls – you know – but mostly it was about the acting. I honestly thought I could learn so much from him.’

He swallowed hard. ‘So it was a bit of a shock when I got on set and everyone seemed to hate me and want to avoid me. At first I thought it was because I was the upstart kid who hadn’t even been to drama school yet, or just because I was Tywin Lannister’s son. But gradually I started to notice stuff and hear rumours, and eventually I worked it out. They were avoiding me because of Aerys. He freaked them out so much that anyone whom he seemed to favour was tainted by association. After a while I saw it too and tried to stay out of his way, but it was difficult. So I just tried to grin and bear it and took comfort in the fact that filming was going to be finished soon.’

Brienne was listening with rapt attention. The rest of the bar had ceased to exist.

Jaime took another sip of whisky and exhaled slowly. ‘On the night before the final day of filming, he waylaid me and all but forced me to go with him to his trailer, where he produced this gigantic bottle of vodka. He kept plying me with it, though I don’t remember him drinking much himself. I got very drunk very quickly – I mean, I was just a kid and I’ve never had much of a head for booze, to tell you the truth. That’s when he told me. He said he’d broken into the pyrotechnics store and stolen a shitload of dynamite and some detonators, and he’d wired up the explosives under everybody’s trailers, and that the following afternoon - after filming was finished and when everyone was relaxing and getting ready for the wrap party – he was going to blow everybody sky-high.’

She blinked. ‘Did you believe him?’

‘In that moment, yes, I did. I was pretty familiar with him by that stage and I thought I’d got a handle on his moods. Now, I don’t honestly know. But right then, I was one hundred percent certain that he was serious.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Nothing. I was so drunk I couldn’t even stand! Eventually I must have passed out, and I have no idea how but the next thing I remember is waking up in my own trailer, more hung over than I’ve ever been before or since, to blinding sunshine and someone hammering on the door. I staggered to open it – must have looked and smelled awful because there was this runner outside who said something like "Oh for fuck’s sake Jaime, you’re meant to be on set NOW" and they practically carried me into make-up. It wasn’t until I was sitting there with them berating me and shaving me and squeezing eye drops into my eyes and coffee into my mouth, all at the same time, that it came back to me about Aerys. I knew I should say something to someone, but I was scarcely capable of forming words, and anyway before I knew what was happening, I was on set, face to face with the bastard. Somebody handed me the gun and said "We’re going straight for the take".’

‘Because you were late?’

‘Exactly. And we’d rehearsed the scene the day before. _And there were blanks in the gun then._ We did it four times so I know for certain.’

‘So what happened next?’

‘Well, we had a few lines of dialogue up close, and then he was supposed to walk away, I had to yell and then shoot him. The director called “Action”, we did the dialogue, then just before Aerys turned, he knew it was my close-up and he looked straight at me and mouthed “Boom”. Bold as brass.’ He paused for a beat. ‘Then he turned, walked, I shouted, fired twice like I was supposed to. Aerys fell. They called “Cut”, and nothing happened. They called it again, and he was still lying there – gods, I can see it now – and then suddenly there was all this running and shouting and someone screamed “I think he’s dead!” And do you know, for the first thirty seconds at least, what I felt, _the only thing_ I felt – was relief.’

Brienne let out a breath. ‘ _Gods_ , Jaime, that’s – that’s understandable.’

He blinked at her. ‘Is it?’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘I killed a man, Brienne.’

‘But you didn’t mean to!’

‘No, but I was responsible for his death. I didn’t want him dead, but I was glad he died. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Little Miss Moral Dilemma.’

‘But – you probably saved the life of everyone else on that film set!’

He shrugged again. ‘Maybe.’

‘What do you mean, _maybe?_ Didn’t the police find -?’

‘I never told the police,’ he interjected sharply.

‘What? Why not?’

‘Well, think about it. They were accusing me of murder. Not for any good reason, I might add – they were just incompetent and looking for a scapegoat, and everyone else seemed to have a cast-iron alibi, whereas my only alibi was Aerys. Oh sure, they tested my blood alcohol and confirmed I’d been drunk as a skunk – like anyone needed confirmation of that – but to their minds that just meant I could have switched the bullet and have no memory of doing it. So if I started sounding off with some crazy story about explosives under the trailers, how was that going to look? If they’d searched and there was nothing there, it would have looked like I was making it up to try and get off more lightly. Whereas if they _did_ find something, at best it would have seemed like vigilante justice. And at worst, it would look like a plot that I was part of and then got cold feet and killed my accomplice. I couldn’t win. It’s not like there was any more filming or a wrap party any more – or any Aerys to detonate anything – so I figured everyone was safe and I should just keep quiet. Anyway, _I_ knew, and that was good enough for me. I did have this crazy idea of searching for the detonators myself, later, but the whole set was dismantled while I was in a police cell.’

‘But they had absolutely no evidence to accuse you of switching the bullet.’

‘Except for my fingerprints all over the gun, the fact that I had no alibi and couldn’t remember half the night, and the fact that they had no evidence to accuse anyone else either.’ He shrugged. ‘My lawyers said it wouldn’t stand up in court and they were right. The judge threw it out in about twenty minutes.’

‘So your father didn’t bribe the judge?’

‘Not that I know of. Oh, I wouldn’t put it past him, had it proved necessary, but it didn’t. A tragic mix-up, they said. Death by misadventure. Which was their way of admitting that they had no idea who really did it.’

She stared at him. ‘Then – why -?’

He smiled, slow and bitter. ‘Why am I _the Kingslayer_?’

She nodded.

His laughed, a hollow chuckle. ‘Because, my dear naïve wench, my trial – my _true_ trial – didn’t take place in that courtroom. Mine was a trial by media, and _they’d_ found me guilty before I ever set foot in the dock. The good-looking upstart son of Westeros’s richest man _accidentally_ kills his father’s greatest rival, a beloved national treasure? Seven hells, that’s a movie script right there! Come on. I didn’t stand a fucking chance. So I just decided that if they were going to cast me as the bad guy, I may as well embrace the role.’

Brienne echoed his laugh, disbelieving. ‘But that makes no sense! What motive did they attribute to you? You killed him for your father, was that supposed to be the story?’

‘Oh yes, that – or personal professional jealousy, or for a publicity stunt. It varied from paper to paper. One even had me and Aerys in a gay affair. It would be funny if it weren’t so fucking awful.’

She blinked a few more times, trying to absorb all of this. ‘So who do you think did it?’ she asked finally.

He gave her a strange look. ‘Do you know, I think you’re the first person who’s ever asked me that?’ He took another sip of whisky. ‘I have no idea. Maybe it _was_ just a tragic accident, like the judge said. Or – well, I used to think’ – He broke off.

‘What?’ she prompted gently, studying his face.

‘I used to wonder, sometimes, whether it was Aerys himself,’ he said quietly. He glanced up at her and then back into his drink. ‘Wanting to end it all but not having the guts to pull the trigger himself would have been just about his style, I reckon. Maybe in his twisted mind he decided that framing me for his own murder would be some spectacular gesture against my father. Or maybe he actually thought he was giving me an out, with an alibi and a justification and everything. In which case I was a party to a very sick assisted suicide. Then again, if that was his intention, wouldn’t he have changed all four bullets, just to be sure?’ He sighed. ‘I just don’t know. I’ve been over it so many times. I don’t suppose it really matters any more though.’

Brienne gazed at him. ‘It does if you can’t forgive yourself.’ He looked up sharply. ‘Well, that’s what this is about, isn’t it?’ she pressed earnestly. ‘I think you need to let it go, Jaime. Let them say what they like. Words are wind, as my dad always says. You did nothing wrong.’

He bit his lip and stared at her until she felt his eyes overwhelm her and her gaze falter. He sighed, picked up his phone and checked the time. There was a long pause. Jaime seemed lost in thought. Finally he sighed again and said despondently, ‘I guess you could say I did get fame out of it, if nothing else. But truthfully I never even wanted that, not really. All I ever wanted was to act, and look how that turned out.’

‘What do you mean? You act. You’ve made over a hundred movies!’

‘Oh _Brienne_ ,’ he groaned. ‘That’s not _acting_. You of all people should know that. Have you ever _seen_ any of my films?’

She fidgeted a little. ‘I, um, I saw the one which was on TV last Sunday.’

‘Oh? Which one was that?’

‘Um, I think it was called _Siege_?’

He snorted again, louder than before. ‘ _That_ piece of trash?! Remind me, how many minutes into the film did I get my shirt off in that one?’

 _About twenty-three_ , she thought. ‘I –I – I don’t remember. I – must have missed that part.’

‘You’re lying, wench. Now I know how terrible you are it, you can’t get anything past me.’ He winked. ‘I always get my shirt off. Or, you know, I used to. I seriously think I’ve spent more time semi-naked on screen than I have off.’ Brienne felt her face turn crimson and was thankful for the dim lighting. ‘Remind me what else happened in that movie?’ Jaime went on. ‘It’s been a few years. Let’s see, did I by any chance stand around looking smoldering, bark orders at various people, kiss someone and shoot a few bad guys, not necessarily in that order?’

Brienne couldn’t resist the pull of her smile. ‘Pretty much,’ she admitted.

‘Yep. Thought so. That’s almost all of my movies in a nutshell. I repeat, I wanted to _act_ , dammit. You know – the classics, or avant-garde stuff like your dad used to do. Gods, I wanted that _so badly_. But there was no way my father would have allowed it. I got offered this great script for an arthouse movie once and he went absolutely ballistic. Something about Lannisters and sheep - I didn’t even listen. But he made it clear that he would ruin my career if I ever deviated from his pre-ordained path for me.’ He gave a grim smile and held up his stump. ‘Turns out, I managed that all by myself.’

Brienne felt a strange squeezing sensation in her chest. ‘Jaime’ – she breathed, not quite knowing what she was going to say next. His expression perked up, suddenly alert, and she looked away, embarrassed. Levity was the best diversion, she reasoned. ‘What about the money and girls?’ she teased gently.

He raised a pained eyebrow. ‘Money, I had already. Girls – well, that, um, never really worked out for me.’ He looked faintly uncomfortable. ‘My experience of celebrity has been twenty years of having to put up with not only the media but even my supposed fans yelling “Kingslayer!” at me whenever they want to attract my attention. Because that’s _such_ a clever name, you know?! Never _Jaime_. I’m always _Mr Lannister_ on set and _Kingslayer_ to the rest of the world.’ He took a deep slug of whisky.

 _You’ll always be Jaime to me now,_ she thought.

The sound of his phone buzzing on the table saved her mind from venturing any further down what felt like a very dangerous path. There was a face flashing on the screen. Jaime scowled, tapped it and picked it up. ‘Tyrion, you little ass-wipe’, he greeted. ‘What the fuck?’

There was a long pause as he listened to what was clearly a lengthy explanation, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly for Brienne’s benefit.

‘So, what you’re telling me is, you got drunk and now I’m screwed,’ he said eventually, in an amiable tone. ‘Thanks for that, little brother. Also,’ he continued in a lower voice, turning his face away, ‘you have about the worst sense of timing ever….What? What’s Margaery been saying?... Yes… No!…. _No,_ Tyrion. Just - shut up, okay?…. Tyr-… Gods, I don’t know why I talk to you. Just do me a favour, would you, and try to keep the rest of the fucking press from descending en masse? You know, _your job?_ ’ He sighed and listened some more. ‘Right... Right…. Yeah, well, what’s done is done. Don’t worry about it… No, really, I’m fine….Yep, okay. See you soon.’

He put the phone down and grimaced. ‘Sorry about that.’ He glanced at the time again. ‘That’s about fifteen minutes. Better go and see if the coast is clear.’ He drained his glass and stood.

‘Do you want me to come with you?’ she asked, rising to her feet as well.

He stopped and looked at her uncertainly, chewing his lip as though wrestling with a decision. ‘You know what?’ he said. ‘You should go home. It’s freezing. I think I’ve got this. It’s just across the street, right?’

‘But what if Bolton’s still there? And it’s dark, and you said’ –

He smiled at her affectionately. ‘What are you going to do, wench? Kick-box Bolton to the ground? Trust me, I’ve tried that sort of thing in the past and it doesn’t go down terribly well. And as for the dark’ – he shuffled his feet – ‘it really _is_ just across the street. I can – I mean, I’m going to have to’ – He grinned sheepishly and regarded her. ‘I’ll be okay. You’ve done enough for tonight. Go and fetch that bike of yours. Damn, now I feel ungallant for not walking you back to get it.’

‘Jaime,’ she laughed. ‘ _I_ walked _you_ here, remember? I don’t need you to be _gallant_ , for goodness sake.’

‘Are we seriously turning this into some kind of contest of courage and chivalry, wench? Because you know I’d win.’

Brienne reached out and wacked him lightly on the upper arm before she could stop herself. ‘No. Shut up. You’re impossible.’ She allowed the briefest of pauses before adding, ‘And you _so_ wouldn’t win.’

His grin spread wider than ever, dazzling her. ‘I suspect you’re right. So, I’ll see you tomorrow?’

She blushed. ‘Of course. Goodnight, Jaime.’

‘Goodnight, Brienne.’ And with that he turned and walked to the door. When he reached it, he glanced back over his shoulder and gave her a little wave before exiting quickly up the stone steps.

Brienne finally gave in to the weakness in her knees and sank back onto her seat. She lifted her half-drunk glass of whisky, stared into it bleakly and then raised it to her lips.

 _Shit,_ she thought. _What am I going to do now?_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. I hope you have not been leading a double life, pretending to be wicked and being really good all the time. That would be hypocrisy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which poor Brienne just can't catch a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this week I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to see a live production of 'Earnest' locally, for the first time in many years. I thoroughly enjoyed it and laughed a lot, but the two things which I couldn't stop thinking were a) how I wished I had been able to have Margaery as Gwendolen and Sansa as Cecily, which was my original idea, but then I realised I needed Sansa not to be an actress for plot purposes (not to mention I decided that 'my' production was possibly nepotistic enough without Catelyn casting her daughter in the show!). Not that I don't love having Ygritte in my fic, and she'd make a very sassy Gwendolen too, but the two actresses whom I saw on Tuesday night were totally Margaery and Sansa and I just had a pang and wanted to share.
> 
> And b) their two lead actors were the weakest members of the cast, especially the guy playing Jack, who was too young and just lacked the requisite charisma. And I just kept thinking 'Where's Jaime? Give me Jaime!'. Lol.
> 
> So anyway, here's a chapter. A lot happens. I torture Brienne a fair bit. I'm not sorry. Enjoy.

**_I hope you have not been leading a double life, pretending to be wicked and being really good all the time. That would be hypocrisy._ **

****

‘If we could take it from the top, _again,_ please, Mr Lannister,’ sighed Catelyn, leaning her forehead on her hand. ‘In fact, no, just the muffin dish sequence again please. Thank you, Mr Baratheon.’

Renly opened his mouth to speak.

‘I still don’t see why I have to take the dish at all,’ interrupted Jaime. ‘I could just reach over and take one. The comedic effect would be the same.’

‘It would not,’ replied Catelyn firmly. ‘How can he take the dish back from you if you haven’t taken it in the first place?’

‘That’s superfluous,’ Jaime retorted. ‘The comedy lies in the fact that I’m the host and yet he won’t let me have any. It’s more elegant my way.’

‘Personally, I thought we were doing it Oscar Wilde’s way,’ said Renly. ‘My mistake.’

Catelyn shot him a glare. ‘Mr Lannister,’ she said. ‘On many occasions, your suggestions are helpful and show considerable insight. This, however, is not one of those occasions. Kindly follow the stage directions as set out in the script.’

‘Perhaps you’d like to borrow mine?’ offered Renly sarcastically. ‘Just to jog your memory, you know.’

Jaime regarded him with undisguised contempt, slumped back down into the chair and said, ‘I believe your line is _Besides, I am particularly fond of muffins._ But, you know, in your own time.’

‘And once again, please could you try _not_ to prompt?’ sighed Catelyn. ‘I realise it must be frustrating for you, but the rest of the cast have only been off book for a relatively short time. Actors prompting other actors in rehearsal isn’t helpful to anyone. It’s Brienne’s job. Let her do it, please.’

Brienne raised her head at the mention of her name and glanced anxiously at the three of them. Rehearsals had been progressing – or rather, failing to progress – in this vein for over a week now. Since the other actors had begun rehearsing without their scripts, Jaime had become more unbearable than ever. Not only did he prompt them with their lines on a regular basis, he also stopped every few minutes to argue with Catelyn over some minor point of characterisation or blocking, or to give unwanted directorial notes to others – even Olenna, who fortunately appeared to take it with good-natured amusement.

Brienne felt constantly torn between the urge to get hold of Jaime and give him a good shake, and the warm feeling which she got every time he gravitated to her side the instant the rehearsal ended, earnestly asking for her thoughts on his performance, or from the way he always seemed to be hanging around making idle chat whenever she took a break, which seemed to be happening more and more.

‘Shouldn’t you have someone else on the book?’ asked Jaime haughtily. ‘Brienne isn’t some glorified prompter. She’s got an important role to carry out and if you force her to sit with her nose in the script, how the hell is she supposed to be able to contribute in areas where her input is actually useful?’

She started in surprise, and saw Catelyn glance sharply in her direction with a frown.

‘Well, as you may be aware,’ said Catelyn tersely, ‘Brienne is normally our ASM on the book. She was _temporarily_ promoted to Stage Manager for this production, due to Stannis’s, um, absence. I can’t afford to hire an additional ASM for one show only, so she is combining both roles. Not that the composition of my backstage crew is actually your concern, Mr Lannister.’

Brienne gulped and looked back down at her script. It hurt a little to hear Catelyn dismiss her in such a way. Of course she knew that she hadn’t taken over Stannis’s role permanently, but she had thought that Catelyn trusted and appreciated her, rather than her appointment being simply a matter of expedience and cost.

‘Well, actually it kind of _is_ my concern,’ responded Jaime thoughtfully. ‘Especially if you’re going to be wilfully oblivious to genuine talent.’

Brienne’s heart leapt. _Jaime just defended me_ , she thought. _Twice. Why?_

Catelyn fixed him with an ice-blue stare. ‘I’m not sure what precisely you are implying, but you would seem to be putting words into my mouth. I would hardly have promoted Brienne if I were oblivious to her talent, as you put it. Now, this is not a conversation which I feel very comfortable with having in the present context, and neither does Brienne, by the looks of her,’ she added with a glance at Brienne’s blushing face. There was a short pause. ‘Now, the muffins, if you would, please. Thank you.’

Brienne dared another swift glance up and saw Jaime staring at her with a concerned look, but Renly had started acting again and she hurriedly redirected her attention back to the script as the two of them continued with the scene.

Almost at once, a sudden crash caused her to look up again. The dish and the small sponges which they were using to represent the muffins were lying on the floor around Jaime’s feet.

‘You see?’ shouted Jaime, who was now on his feet, gesticulating wildly with hand and floppy sleeve alike. ‘ _This_ is why I shouldn’t take the bloody dish!’

Brienne leapt up and hurried over to start picking everything up.

‘You could do it _slower_ ,’ said Renly without sympathy.

‘ _Snatch_ it slower?’ snapped Jaime from above her head. ‘You’re seriously suggesting I gracefully balance the dish in some kind of slow-motion _snatch?_ Because _that_ isn’t going to look stupid or staged at all!’

‘Gentlemen!’ protested Catelyn.

Brienne felt Jaime drop to his haunches beside her. ‘Gods, get up, wench,’ he muttered irritably. ‘Don’t scuttle around my feet like a bloody lackey. I dropped it, I can pick it up, for fuck’s sake.’ He reached out for one of the sponges and put it back on the dish, which was by her feet.

‘It’s fine, I’ve got it,’ she growled in embarrassment. She rapidly gathered up the rest, aware of Renly watching her with a distasteful expression.

Jaime gripped the edge of the dish and looked her fiercely in the eye. ‘I’m telling you’ – he hissed.

‘And _I’m_ telling _you_ it’s my job,’ she hissed back. Whatever this private joke of his was, in which he had apparently decided to treat her with ostentatious chivalry in direct proportion to his obvious scorn for everyone else, she wished he wouldn’t make a public spectacle of her like this.

‘All right, could we try it just one more time, please?’ called Catelyn. ‘Maybe if, um, instead of snatching the dish, you just lift it high out of his reach?’

Jaime gave her a long, stony glare. Brienne picked up the dish and set it down in front of an equally livid-looking Renly, but before she had even had time to leave the stage area and return to her seat, Jaime was saying his line and had reached out for the dish once again. He did as Catelyn suggested and lifted it up above his head, but as he did so the ‘muffins’ began to slide off once more.

Without thinking about anything beyond the fact that he was obviously quite unable to catch them, Brienne shot out a hand and righted the angle of the dish as Jaime swung it past her face, catching the muffins at its edge and preventing them from falling.

Jaime froze and gaped at her. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he brought the dish down and placed it on his side of the table. She saw him swallow hard. There was a pause.

‘Oh. Nice,’ declared Renly sarcastically. ‘Really smooth.’ He rounded on Brienne. ‘What are you going to do, pop out from the wings every night when we do this scene so that you can hold it for him?’

Brienne blushed. ‘No, of course not. I – um’ – she glanced desperately at Jaime, who was looking at her with a strange expression. Eventually, summoning her resolve, she raised her voice slightly. ‘You know, Catelyn, I think Mr Lannister may have a point. I’m not sure this scene is going to work as written. Not unless we glue the muffins down, and we can’t do that because they actually have to eat them all.’

Jaime’s lips pursed into a smirk. He turned to Catelyn, while Brienne tried desperately not to stare at his mouth. ‘I rest my case,’ he drawled smugly, and then looked back at Brienne with a widening smile which she was powerless not to return.

Renly gave a snort. ‘Oh gods, _get a room!_ You know, Cat, maybe you should get Stan back,’ he sneered. ‘Now that you’ve decided to go along with his whole “the script is sacrosanct” thing after all – thanks to _him’_ – he added, jerking his chin towards Jaime – ‘and thereby changed half of my lines _just_ as I’d got them memorised, there’s nothing really to stop you, is there? We’d still have this fucking backstage love-fest, I imagine, but at least Stan would keep it in his pants.’

The room fell silent. Brienne felt her face turn instantly scarlet. She heard Jaime make some kind of strangled cough noise and shuffle his feet, but she didn’t dare to look at his face again. _Well, that’s probably the end of that,_ she thought with a rush of grief. _Why does everyone think there’s something going on between us?_ _Now he won’t even want to hang out with me because he’ll think he’s giving me the wrong idea or something._

Out of sheer pride, she forced herself to look at Catelyn. The older woman narrowed her eyes and this time her gaze moved very deliberately from Jaime’s face to Brienne’s and back again.

‘Renly,’ she said coolly. ‘That was exceedingly inappropriate and unprofessional.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I think that will be all for today, thank you, gentlemen. Brienne, if you have a moment, I’d like to see you in my office please,’ and with that she swept from the room.

_Oh gods, can I just die now and get it over with?_ Brienne thought. She trudged over to collect her things from her seat, eyes on the ground, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl and painfully aware of the two pairs of eyes, green and blue, trained on her back as she moved to the door. She heard Jaime call her name in a worried voice, but chose to pretend she hadn’t.

It didn’t get much worse than this, surely? Of all the people in the world whom she _least_ desired to be humiliated in front of, she could safely say that her boss, her former crush and her current... _what was Jaime exactly?..._ were top of the list.

Catelyn was sitting behind her desk, hands clasped atop it and posture uncompromising, in a manner which did little to dispel Brienne’s sense of being sent to the principal’s office. Vivid memories flashed back of an incident at the local technical college a couple of years earlier. _Why does this keep happening to me when it’s never my doing?_ she wondered. _I’m like a bad joke._

‘Brienne,’ began Catelyn briskly without preamble, ‘first of all, I realise it may have sounded back there as though I don’t value your work as Stage Manager, which of course I do. I apologise if I gave the wrong impression.’

_You don’t sound very sorry,_ thought Brienne mutinously, then flushed with shame for having done so.

‘That’s okay,’ she replied meekly. ‘I know it’s not a permanent appointment. I’m not, um, getting ideas above my station or anything. Don’t worry.’ _I know I’m just a nobody. At least Jaime seems to appreciate me. Professionally. STOP. Stop it._

Almost as though she could read her thoughts, Catelyn peered keenly at her face, cleared her throat and went on in a more sombre tone, ‘Well, to be frank, Brienne, I _am_ a little worried.’ She paused. ‘About, um, what Renly said. Not to mention other things I’ve been hearing, and my own observations. I must say I didn’t give it any credence until today, but having witnessed your, um, _dynamic_ with Mr Lannister just now, I feel compelled to ask you outright. What is the nature of your relationship with him? You can speak freely with me, but I must ask you to be truthful.’

Brienne swallowed hard, hoping the thudding of her heart wasn’t audible and trying to will her blush to subside. How was she supposed to explain the weird... thing between her and Jaime when she herself didn’t understand what it was? She took a deep breath and lifted her chin.

‘I don’t have a _relationship_ with him. We’ve worked together closely and I think he respects me. I respect him too. I suppose – I suppose you could say we’re friends. Friendly colleagues.’

Catelyn regarded her for a moment. ‘Brienne,’ she said a little more softly, ‘forgive me. I’ve no wish to embarrass you unduly, but please don’t forget that I know the circumstances under which you originally came to work here.’

‘Wh – what do you mean?’

‘I mean, I’m aware that there was a time when you, um, _admired_ Renly. Not just as an actor, I mean.’

Brienne’s eyes widened. ‘How did you - ?’

Catelyn gave a little sympathetic smile. She hesitated. ‘Brienne, I’ve always thought of you as almost like another daughter to me, do you know that? And, if I’m not much mistaken, you’ve possibly looked on me as a mother on occasion too. Am I wrong?’

Brienne turned scarlet and felt her eyes sting. She shook her head mutely.

The older woman smiled again. ‘Well then, let me tell you, as a mother to two teenage girls, I’m afraid that you are rather transparent. Your feelings for Renly stuck out a mile. I didn’t say anything because I figured that you would, and should, find out for yourself that it was hopeless, and that you would quickly get over it once that happened, and indeed I was right. I thought you might learn something from the experience, and after all no real harm could ever truly come of it.’

‘I – I see,’ stammered Brienne.

‘The present case is, however, I am sorry to say, very different,’ continued Catelyn with a frown. ‘If you assure me that there is no actual, um, dalliance _currently_ taking place between yourself and Jaime Lannister, then, knowing you as I do, I’m inclined to believe that you’re telling me the truth. Unfortunately, I’m not so sure that you’re being honest with yourself regarding your own emotions. It’s perfectly apparent to me that you are attracted to the man, and may even be entertaining some feelings of, um, fondness, towards him. A man like Jaime Lannister will pick up on that kind of thing and may easily exploit it to take advantage of you both personally and professionally. I really don’t want to see that happen to you, Brienne.’

Brienne felt her mouth opening and closing like a fish. _Attracted? Fondness?? Oh gods, it’s true_ , she realised. But it was entirely one-sided, that much she was certain of, so what Catelyn was saying made no sense.

‘Catelyn, it’s – it’s not like that,’ she managed to protest weakly. ‘Jaime’s not like that.’

Catelyn looked up sharply. ‘ _Mr Lannister_ \- as it seems I must remind you to call him - is a visiting actor, and a famous one at that, with an established career and a life _a long way_ from Winterfell, in every sense. He is also a great deal older than you, comes from an extremely unpleasant family, and has a history which, frankly, I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. You, on the other hand, are a young woman with a rather romantic disposition and very little experience of the real world. I don’t mean to be cruel, Brienne, but I’ve been around this business a long time and I have seen this scenario before, more than once. A man in his position simply _does not_ become _seriously_ involved with female co-stars or crew members while on tour. He may, however – and almost invariably does – take advantage of his own looks and prestige to get what he wants and then move swiftly on, leaving emotional destruction and sometimes ruined careers in his wake.’

She looked at Brienne expectantly, but she remained silent. ‘Not to mention,’ continued Catelyn grimly, ‘that it becomes impossible for those involved to behave with the proper professional detachment during a production. I need this show to _work,_ Brienne. The King’s Landing press have got hold of the story somehow, and there’s a real chance this could be a turning point for us, _provided_ we can actually pull it off. There are times when I have my doubts, though. It’s bad enough having Renly up in arms about absolutely everything. The last thing I need is for you to be reduced to a snivelling wreck by the likes of Jaime Lannister.’

The injustice of it all hit suddenly Brienne like a wave. She drew herself up. ‘Catelyn, I’m sorry, but you’re wrong,’ she stated proudly. ‘Jaime – Mr Lannister – he’s not the man you think he is. I swear. And I promise I won’t allow anything to cloud my professional judgement.’

Catelyn pursed her lips with displeasure. ‘This is non-negotiable, Brienne. You will shut this down and shut it down right now, or I may have to consider Renly’s suggestion of reinstating Stannis to the position of Stage Manager.’

‘Very well,’ said Brienne stoically. ‘Will that be all, Catelyn?’

The two women stared each other down for a moment or two, then Catelyn took a breath and said coldly, ‘Yes, that will be all. For now. Thank you, Brienne.’

She hurried from the room, stomped back to her desk and sank her head onto her arms, her mind a desperate, confusing whirl of emotions.

‘Bad day, lass?’

She looked up to see Sandor looming over her, his usual sardonic expression adorning his face.

‘What do you want?’ she grumbled. She felt way past the point of being nice to anyone and knew that Sandor couldn’t care less either way.

‘Keys. To the auditorium,’ he clarified when she scowled in confusion.

‘What for? I thought we were putting the set up tomorrow morning?’

‘We are. This is for the chandelier guys.’

‘What chandelier guys?’

‘Fuck, don’t you read emails any more, lass? Catelyn’s got some guys in to clean and fix up the chandelier. You know, that big-ass lump of glass fuckery that’s hanging up in there?’

Brienne sighed. She vaguely remembered seeing something in an email earlier in the week, but her mind had been elsewhere and the details had passed her by. _So much for not letting anything interfere with my work_ , she thought drily. _Perhaps I_ should _just quit and let Stannis take over. But then I wouldn’t see Jaime every day. Oh my GODS, what is wrong with me? Catelyn’s right, this is just like Renly all over again._

‘So, keys?’ repeated Sandor. ‘Buck up, lass. You look like you paid for a shit and only farted.’

With a weak smile, she reached down and unhooked the large bunch of keys from her belt, isolated the correct one and handed it to him. ‘How long is it going to take?’

‘Fuck knows. Few hours? Maybe tomorrow morning?’

‘A few _hours?_ To clean a chandelier?’

Sandor sniggered. ‘Yeah, well, she only gets them in every couple of years. Specialist firm, see. Antique, innit? Costs a fucking fortune to bring it down, wash all them little crystal fuckers, replace any dead bulbs, and then up it goes again. Reckon she’s only doing it now ‘cause we’re maybe gonna have a houseful of fucking bigwigs and toffs from King’s Pissing Landing here in a couple of weeks.’ He jingled the keys. ‘Ta, lass. Don’t wait up. I’ll stick ‘em in your desk drawer when we’re done. All right?’

‘Yes, yes, fine,’ muttered Brienne. ‘I’m going home.’

‘All right, lass. See ya later. Don’t let the cunts get you down, eh?’ and he strode away.

 

****************************************************

Brienne hardly slept that night. Tormented by echoes of Catelyn’s humiliating lecture, Renly and Loras’s taunts, and even the giggling faces of Margaery and Sansa, whom she now suspected of trying to push her towards Jaime for their own amusement, she tossed and turned in her bed. When sleep finally did come, her dreams were full of gold and green and tempting smiles.

She awoke feeling groggy and miserable. The wind was freezing, and she contemplated taking the bus to work for once, but in the end she zipped up her anorak and tried to convince herself that the damp sting against her cheeks as she cycled could cleanse her of all these unwanted feelings and the horrific embarrassment of once again being deep in the grips of a hopeless crush. It didn’t really work.

Arriving at the rear of the theatre to lock up her bike, she saw that Sandor already had the doors to the backstage area and the storage unit propped open, and was battling valiantly with the violent gusts which occasionally threatened to take them off their hinges. She ran to help him, and somehow the two of them managed to wrestle the freshly papered flats out of the storage space and into the other doorway.

‘I’ll get the tools!’ Brienne yelled over the noise of the wind, and scurried inside.

The backstage area was deserted and quiet, untouched since the end of the previous production. She did a quick walk through and found a few piles of detritus from the last show still lying around in corners. Some wigs, make-up. Empty water bottles, a script. Torn lighting gels. She would have to get all of that cleared up. The sense of purpose cheered her a little, and as though drawn by an invisible thread she found herself walking out onto the bare stage, its boards echoing beneath her feet. It felt good.

She cast an appraising eye at the black drapes surrounding it, noting the places where they might need to be repaired or repositioned for the current show. The auditorium lay dark, of course, the back of it obscured in shadow, but looking up she caught sight of the chandelier which Sandor had been talking about yesterday. It hung high up in the domed ceiling of the old building, way above the Upper Circle, above even the disused balcony level - now deemed too dangerous for seating purposes – and even from this far below, it looked enormous. It seemed to be glinting in a way which she had never noticed before. Glancing down, she noticed a pile of dismantled scaffolding bars, tarpaulins and wrapped tools lying by the side door as though awaiting collection. _Of course, the chandelier cleaners._ That made sense. If the glass had been washed for the first time in two years, she supposed that she would notice the difference.

Remembering the task at hand, she went back to the dressing room and retrieved a tool kit from a high shelf, then returned to Sandor, and between them they carefully manoeuvred the flats one by one into position on the stage, joining them and fixing them in place as they did so and finally weighing down the supports with the sandbags which were piled backstage for this purpose.

By the time they had finished, they were both sweating and Brienne was feeling a little better, despite a few bruises and scratches.

Sandor wiped his brow. ‘Going for a smoke,’ he announced.

‘Okay,’ said Brienne. ‘I might go and get a coffee. Want one?’

‘Tea,’ he replied. ‘Strong enough to stand the spoon up in. Three sugars.’

When she returned from the cafeteria ten minutes later with the two cups, Sandor was nowhere to be seen, and she realised with dismay that she had left the back doors to the auditorium open. Her keys must be upstairs in her desk after Sandor had borrowed them last night, and in any case it hadn’t crossed her mind to lock up because she thought he was smoking just outside.

A noise from inside alerted her.

‘Sandor?’ she called, going in. ‘I’ve got your – oh!’

For the person who stepped out of the dressing room wasn’t Sandor, but Jaime.

He grinned. ‘Morning, wench!’ He nodded at the cups. ‘One of those for me?’

She was so flustered that she nearly dropped them and had to put them down hurriedly on a table.

‘Ah – no. Course not. I – I didn’t know you were here. You – you shouldn’t be here. Health and safety...’ she trailed off. He was still grinning. _How is it possible for someone’s TEETH to be so beautiful?_ she wondered irrationally, subconsciously pulling her lips down over her own slightly crooked teeth.

‘Oh come on, don’t be boring,’ he complained jovially. ‘I’ve never seen in here before. It’s been locked up ever since I arrived. I just wanted to take a look. After all, I’m going to be performing here in a couple of weeks and at the moment, dear Renly has me at a disadvantage because he’s been on this stage a hundred times. You can’t blame me for wanting to check it out. Where’s my dressing room?’

She gawped. ‘You don’t get your own dressing room. This is it. It’s communal. One for the men, one for the women.’

His face fell. ‘But – I’ – he looked down at his stump with some horror. ‘On set I have a personal dresser. I can’t change costume without one, especially with buttons and cravats and whatnot.’ He lifted his eyes to hers and said, almost shyly, ‘I – I was kind of assuming you’d help me out with that.’

Brienne felt a flush run over her whole body. Her mouth did the goldfish thing again. _Help him out with getting dressed?? No. Oh gods, yes, please. I mean, no! I just – can’t._

‘I – I –I can’t do that,’ she stammered eventually. ‘I’ll have, um, lots of other responsibilities on the night. You know that, Jaime.’ _Unless I lose my job in the meantime because I’m so besotted with you that I can’t think straight, of course._ ‘Loras is in charge of costumes,’ she added in an attempt at brusqueness. ‘I’m sure he can take care of it for you. But it’ll have to be in the communal area, so you’d better prepare yourself.’

‘Right,’ said Jaime glumly. He shuffled his feet a little and scratched his neck. ‘Um, Brienne?’ he began in an earnest tone.

She started. ‘What?’

‘I, um – look, I’m sorry if I got you into trouble with the old Stark witch yesterday. I know you were only trying to help, and Renly was way out of line.’

Brienne blushed again and wished she could shrink. ‘Don’t talk about Catelyn like that,’ she murmured distractedly, a faint sense of outraged loyalty surfacing despite everything.

Jaime grinned again. ‘Oh wench, you’re unbelievable,’ he laughed affectionately. ‘She gave you a roasting, didn’t she, I bet? And yet your first thought is to defend her.’

‘I – no, I – she didn’t _give me a_ _roasting_ , as you put it.’ _She just warned me to stay away from you because she thinks you’re trouble._ ‘It was _you_ she was mad at, mostly. You should really start behaving in rehearsals, you know. Renly only says that stuff because you rile him up.’

‘Oh, I know,’ he agreed wickedly. ‘But that’s half the fun, eh, wench? That, and watching all the adorable shades of red which you manage to cycle through in a single session. Oh yes, like that one right there.’ He jabbed a finger in the direction of her face. ‘I’m working on a scoring system. That one’s about a four on the Brienne scale. Now, are you going to show me the damned stage, or what? And if you dare mention health and safety regulations again, I shall personally report you for carrying more than one hot beverage without approved protective clothing.’

Brienne huffed, but his pull on her was irresistible and she knew it. ‘Fine. Just for a minute, though.’

She led him through to the backstage area proper, and indicated the back of the scenery.

His face lit up. ‘It’s finished?’ He sounded excited.

‘Just the flats. We just put them up, like a quarter of an hour ago.’

Jaime stepped forward and placed his hand on the handle of one of the centre doors. ‘Double doors?’ he asked with dismay. ‘How am I supposed to -?’

_‘I’ll_ open one side from backstage,’ she said reassuringly. ‘That _is_ one of my jobs.’

He grinned at her again in a knee-weakening manner and said, ‘Well come on then, we’d better rehearse it. To get the timing right. On three, okay?’ He placed his hand on the left handle. After a second’s hesitation, Brienne crossed behind him and grasped the right-hand one. She looked at him. He mouthed in an almost silent whisper, ‘One, two, _three,_ ’, and perfectly simultaneously, they flung open one door each.

Jaime stepped through onto the stage. Brienne made to grab his door with her left hand and shut them both rapidly behind him, but to her surprise he turned and beckoned her forward. ‘Come out here,’ he urged. ‘Plenty of time to practice that later. I’m not too concerned though. I’d imagine you’re capable of closing a door with relative ease, and we did great there with the opening part. We’ve got good timing, wench.’ He winked.

Something shifted in Brienne’s chest and gut. Clearly he was still toying with her, but this felt different to yesterday – darker and more dangerous, somehow. She took a few tentative steps onto the stage. Earlier, standing here alone, she had felt almost at peace. Now, with Jaime standing a couple of feet in front of her, she was suddenly nervous. She watched him as he began to pace around the stage in a feral manner, taking in the set, the floor, the dimensions, the positions of the lights and the front few rows of visible seating.

He peered out into the darkened auditorium and up into the flies. ‘Are there any lights? I want to see what this place actually looks like.’

‘Um, well, not stage lights, no. I’d have to go into the lighting booth and it’s way up the top there. But I, um, I guess I could switch on some house lights for a second. I shouldn’t. But - if you want...’

‘I do want.’

‘Okay then,’ she breathed, crossing to the steps which led down the side of the stage. ‘But only’ –

‘Only for a minute – yeah, yeah, I know. Gods, you do drone on, woman.’

Brienne hurried up the side aisle into the shadows, felt around on the wall for a moment and finally located the central dimmer switch which controlled the house lights manually. They could also be operated from the lighting booth, and usually were during a show, but this was an emergency backup.

For a moment, she thought she heard a strange noise from above, but then decided she must have imagined it. She turned the switch, and the lights finally came up on the rows of dark grey plush seats, the blue carpet and the silver curlicues over the doors and proscenium arch. She caught another glint from the chandelier.

All of this paled into insignificance, however, compared to the sight of Jaime, his golden head gleaming, standing centre stage as though he had been born to be there – truly a lion in his natural habitat. Awestruck, she found her feet moving across the back of the stalls and down the centre aisle towards him. When she came close enough to make out his features properly, she stopped in wonder and gazed at him. His expression was completely altered, devoid of its usual cynicism or its occasional arrogance. He looked transfigured, like he had when talking about his admiration for her father’s theatre work.

Jaime surveyed the scene in front of him before letting his gaze travel down to where she stood.

‘This is _it_ , wench,’ he said in a husky voice. ‘This – _this’_ – he pointed vehemently down at the stage beneath his feet - ‘this is where I fucking belong. On a fucking stage. _Gods_ , Brienne. I have missed this _so much_ , you have _no_ idea. I feel like I’ve been in a coma for twenty years, or lost, and now I’m awake, I’m home! _Gods!’_ he exclaimed again. He took a deep, deep breath in, like someone who had been starved of air, and bit his lip before exhaling again. ‘Yep, it even smells right. Ha ha!’ He gave a little triumphant cackle. For a crazy moment, Brienne wondered if he might be about to break into a dance. He looked down at her earnestly. ‘ _Thank you,_ ’ he said fervently.

‘It’s nothing,’ she responded, glowing. ‘I – I’m glad, Jaime.’

He opened his mouth to say something else, but this time there was a definite loud noise from somewhere up above them. A creak.

Jaime peered up. ‘What’s up there?’ he asked dubiously.

‘Nothing, really. Just’ –

‘Brienne,’ said Jaime in a wary voice, not taking his eyes off the ceiling. There was another creaking sound. ‘I don’t mean to worry you, but should I be able to see daylight up there? Through the roof, I mean?’

‘What?!’ She looked up again. _Of course_. The chandelier shouldn’t glint in the dark when it was switched off. There was no light source to reflect off it.

_Creeeak. CREEEEEAK. RUMBLE. CRACK!_

‘Fuck!!’ shouted Jaime suddenly. ‘FUCK, BRIENNE, LOOK OUT!!’ and without warning he leapt bodily off the stage and on top of her, throwing her to the side and rolling them both half under the first row of seats as, with an almighty rumble and an ear-splitting crash of metal and glass, the huge chandelier plummeted from the ceiling and smashed into the centre aisle, just feet from where Brienne had been standing.

Jaime covered her with his body, and she instinctively brought up her hands to clasp over his head, protecting it from the shower of tumbling plaster and other debris which had followed in the chandelier’s wake. She screwed her eyes shut as she felt her mouth and nose fill with plaster dust, and began to cough.

When silence eventually descended, Jaime lifted his head from where it had been buried in her shoulder and searched her face frantically. He looked white as a sheet, only in his case it was clearly not from dust, which had coated his back, his hair and the backs of Brienne’s hands instead.

‘Fuck!’ he panted again, wide-eyed. ‘Are you okay?! Tell me you’re okay!’

Brienne coughed furiously and eventually choked out, ‘I’m okay. Yeah.’

‘Are you sure? Did you hit your head? Wiggle your toes for me. Please!’

She did so. ‘I’m fine, Jaime. I think I bumped my head and shoulder a little bit, but it’s okay. How about you?’

He puffed with relief and smiled weakly. ‘I’m okay, wench. You cushioned my fall.’

It was then that she realised that she was still lying pressed beneath his fully outstretched body, not an inch of space between them. Her heart rate accelerated even further than her recent brush with death had caused it to do, and she struggled to push him off a little and wriggle to a sitting position.

She stared at the ruined remains of the chandelier, its pieces shattered across almost the entire stalls area, and then at the now gaping hole in the roof high above them. The chandelier had fallen straight down, hitting the floor almost dead centre, but a couple of centre aisle seats were damaged, and there was no doubt that if Brienne had been standing in her earlier position when it fell, she would have been seriously injured at the very least.

Jaime seemed to be reading her thoughts as he too surveyed the scene, because he shook his head in disbelief and breathed, ‘Seven hells. I think that just took about ten years off my life.’ He turned back to her. ‘Are you really sure you’re okay? I think we should get you to a hospital, just in case.’

She pushed him off the rest of the way and tentatively stood up. ‘No, really, look at me, I’m fine.’ She gazed in wonder up at the stage and then back at Jaime. ‘I can’t believe you just jumped down from up there to save me.’

He stared back. ‘Well of course I bloody’ – he began, then checked himself, looked away, sighed and murmured drily, ‘I don’t like maidens getting crushed to death on my watch.’ He glanced up at her with a cocked eyebrow. ‘You _are_ a ‘maiden’, are you? Because I only rescue maidens.’

‘Oh, shut up!’ she laughed gently, glad for once of his teasing having lightened the moment, and reached out a hand to help him to his feet.

A sound from the stage behind her made her turn and immediately blush. Sandor was standing in the open double doorway, Styrofoam cup in hand and an expression of utter shock on his face. He gave a long, low whistle. ‘Well, fuck me,’ he intoned. ‘You’ve outdone yourself this time, Kingslayer. What in all the fucking hells happened in here?’

‘We thought we’d redecorate,’ quipped Jaime. ‘Like it?’

Sandor turned. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s all go and find Ma Stark. This is gonna be a good one.’

*********************************************

‘So, explain to me again what you were doing in there?’ Catelyn asked Jaime in a shaky voice when he and Brienne had finally trooped back into her office, still covered in dust, after escorting an ashen-faced Catelyn down to inspect the damage.

‘It was my fault,’ blurted out Brienne before he could make a sound. ‘He just wanted to see the stage. I’m sorry. I know I should have said no.’

‘You’re right, you should have,’ replied Catelyn coldly. ‘But what I’m failing to understand is how Mr Lannister came to be there in the first place. The auditorium was locked.’

‘Well, I’- Brienne began.

‘I borrowed the keys from Sandor Clegane,’ put in Jaime. ‘Bumped into him outside while he was smoking and talked him into it. Curiosity just got the better of me. Totally my fault.’

Brienne’s eyes widened. ‘That’s not true at all!’ she cried. _Why is he lying?_ ‘Sandor borrowed the keys from _me_ , last night, to let the chandelier cleaners in, and I said he could leave them in my desk when he’d finished. Obviously he didn’t and he used them to open it up again this morning. But I was the one who just went off and left it open. I’m the one to blame.’

Jaime shot her a long-suffering _‘Really?’_ look and added, ‘But I was the one who wandered in there without permission. You really mustn’t blame Brienne.’

Brienne scowled at him. ‘The point is, surely, that the chandelier guys were clearly negligent and obviously didn’t fix it back up properly. I think we should all be grateful that it was only the two of us in there. Imagine if it had happened during a performance! As it is, I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for Jaime.’ She couldn’t resist turning to smile at him.

‘The _point_ is,’ snapped Catelyn, ‘that if you hadn’t been wandering around, switching on lights out of performance hours, letting unauthorised personnel have access to restricted areas, and generally neglecting your responsibilities, nobody’s life would have been in any danger at all.’

‘Now come on, that’s a bit harsh,’ protested Jaime, raising his voice. ‘Brienne and I have both had a terrifying experience, she’s hit her head and I think she ought to get checked out for concussion, and in any case you’re talking crap. It was pure chance that it fell at the moment it did. Five minutes either way and the outcome could have been much worse or much better. Apportioning blame isn’t going to change anything, or help the situation.’

Catelyn glared at him for several seconds, then sighed and sank her face onto her hands. ‘You’re right,’ she said defeatedly at last, running her hands through her hair. ‘What matters is that I’m screwed. The show is off. I suppose you may as well pack up your stuff and head back to King’s Landing.’

‘What? Why?!’ exclaimed Brienne.

Jaime glanced at her. ‘Seems a bit of a drastic reaction,’ he drawled to Catelyn.

Catelyn gaped at him. ‘Drastic?? I have a giant whole in my roof, a ruined auditorium, and have just lost a priceless and iconic antique chandelier which has been in this theatre since it was built in 1859. Even if I don’t replace the chandelier – which I can’t – the damage must run into thousands of dragons. Tens of thousands, potentially. Which is money I simply don’t have. Not to mention the repairs will probably take months. There can’t possibly be any shows here for the foreseeable future. Which effectively means that I’m bankrupt.’

‘Won’t insurance cover it?’ asked Brienne.

‘Not an antique chandelier, no. And if you mean the roof, I suspect that the chandelier cleaning company would fight any claim on the grounds of poor roof maintenance, and probably with good reason. I imagine it was woodworm in a joist, or some such thing. An old building like this is almost impossible to fully insure. There would probably be a legal battle – which I also can’t afford – and the whole thing could potentially drag on for years. No, this is it. It’s over.’ Her voice cracked and she dropped her head to the desk.

There was a long pause. Stricken, Brienne looked to Jaime in desperation. He winked slowly.

_He’s winking now?_ she thought incredulously. _My boss is distraught and we’re probably all out of a job and he’s actually_ winking _?_

Jaime cleared his throat. ‘You know, I could get it sorted for you in less than a week.’

Catelyn raised her head slowly. ‘What?’ she uttered dully.

‘Yep. I mean, I could get contractors in here for you tomorrow, if I thought that my surname had the same kind of pull up here which it does down south. Sadly, I know that’s not the case.’ He smiled a slow, wolfish smile. ‘But if you don’t mind allowing an extra day for travelling time, there are plenty of builders down Lannisport way who’d gladly drive up here for the right price.’

Catelyn peered at him as though he were slightly dense. ‘But – I just told you. I have _no_ money.’

‘Did I say you’d be paying? I’m paying.’

Brienne’s jaw dropped. ‘Jaime!’ she exclaimed in horror.

Catelyn’s eyes flicked briefly to her and then settled back on Jaime again, round with disbelief. ‘ _You?_ Why – why in all the seven hells would you do that?’

Jaime shrugged. ‘”The show must go on”?’ he suggested wryly. ‘Besides, I can afford it and you can’t. Simple really.’

Both women simply gawped at him. ‘Jaime, you can’t do this!’ protested Brienne. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

He fixed her with a withering stare. ‘Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do with my own money, wench.’

‘But she said it would be tens of’ –

‘Tens of thousands of dragons, yes, I heard, thanks. I can probably get the bill down a fair bit, don’t worry. Most of the damage at floor level is cosmetic, if I’m not much mistaken. Not that it matters. Oh, and I’ve got a spare chandelier you can have, too, if you like,’ he added nonchalantly, turning back to Catelyn. ‘It’s a bit smaller, I think, but similar age and style, if memory serves.’ He grinned.

Catelyn actually snorted. ‘No. No. I’m sorry, Mr Lannister, but I refuse to believe that you have a _spare_ antique chandelier just – _lying around somewhere_ , ready to donate to a worthy cause.’

Jaime stretched back in his chair. ‘Well, technically, it’s not _lying around_. It’s hanging in the hallway at Casterly Rock. There are two there. And possibly another one upstairs in the main drawing room. Can’t quite remember. Either way, nobody’ll miss it.’

‘What’s Casterly Rock?’ asked Brienne.

‘My father’s mansion.’

‘You mean to tell me that you’re planning to _steal_ a chandelier from your father’s house and you’re offering it to us like we should be grateful?’

He guffawed. ‘That’s my honest wench!’ he exclaimed delightedly. ‘Technically, it’s my house. Or not. Bit of a legal grey area, see? After I lost my hand, my father wanted me to give up my film career and join him on the board of Lannister Productions. When I refused, he offered me all manner of bribes, one of which was signing over the family estate to me on the grounds that he never goes there anyway. I refused to sign the papers. He refuses to acknowledge that I haven’t signed the papers and insists on sending me all the bills. So, as far as I’m concerned, it’s his house, and as far as he’s concerned, it’s mine. Either way, like I say, neither of us ever sets foot in the place. So I would say that, on balance, since we have three chandeliers and you have precisely none, your need is greater than ours. My aunt might notice it’s gone, eventually, but she’s a good old stick and she won’t mind, not once I explain.’

Brienne gazed at him in awe. Jaime grinned again and turned to Catelyn once more. ‘So?’ he said.

‘Mr Lannister, I – I –I hardly know what to say.’

‘Well, “Yes” and “thanks” would be a good start,’ he suggested, scratching his beard.

Catelyn swallowed. ‘I, um – yes. And, um, thank you. It’s – exceedingly generous of you. I mean, about the roof repairs. I – I can’t accept the chandelier, though. It doesn’t seem right.’

‘Nonsense!’ said Jaime airily. ‘The guys can bring it up in their lorry. Just – you know – name it after me, or something. Or we can just call it a long-term loan, if it’ll make you feel better.’

‘Well...’ Catelyn was still frowning doubtfully. ‘Maybe – maybe just for this production, then,’ she conceded finally.

Jaime winked again. ‘Whatever you say.’ He rose. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a few phone calls to make if we want to get this show on the road, to coin a phrase.’

Catelyn gave a terse nod. ‘Of course. And, um, thank you again, Mr Lannister.’

‘Any time,’ he said with a wry smile, and with a final look at Brienne, he left the room. She rose to follow him.

‘Not you, Brienne,’ came Catelyn’s ominous voice behind her.

She turned with a gulp and met her employer’s steely blue gaze. ‘Yes?’ she managed.

There was a brief pause. ‘Brienne,’ said Catelyn in a chilling tone. ‘Yesterday, if I recall correctly, we had a conversation in which I laid down clear conditions regarding your behaviour towards a certain cast member. You, if _you_ recall, assured me in no uncertain terms that your relationship with that cast member was beyond reproach, and moreover that your attitude towards your professional duties was completely unaffected. Do you recall that conversation, Brienne?’

She bowed her head. ‘Yes, Catelyn,’ she whispered. _As though I could ever forget._

‘Perhaps you would care to explain to me, then, why it is that today I find you being cavalier with theatre security and wilfully breaking theatre rules, in the company of that very cast member? Whose life you inadvertently endangered in the process. Can you imagine the insurance bill which we would have been faced with if anything had happened to him?’

_I was the one who nearly died_ , she thought. _But I don’t suppose my life matters_. She ground her jaw resentfully.

‘I’m sorry, Catelyn. I – I just wasn’t thinking. It’s not as though anyone could have foreseen what happened.’

‘That – is – irrelevant,’ Catelyn spat out. ‘The fact remains that you blatantly disobeyed my orders _and_ basic health and safety regulations, with what could have been dire consequences. Under the circumstances, since you seem unwilling or unable to terminate your _association_ with Jaime Lannister, I regret to tell you that I can no longer allow you to continue as Stage Manager on this production. I am _very_ disappointed in you, Brienne. Frankly, I had high hopes for you. But since you’ve fallen under this disreputable man’s unfortunate influence, there seems to be nothing I can do.’

A flash of fury ran through Brienne. She blushed but held her ground. ‘Catelyn – that _disreputable_ _man_ , as you call him, saved both my life and your theatre today! How can you be so - short-sighted and – and ungrateful?!’

Catelyn tutted and shook her head. ‘You really are a very naive girl, Brienne. He was simply trying to buy my favour. That’s what the Lannisters do.’

Brienne stared, open-mouthed. ‘No! He’s – he’s a _good person!_ I’m telling you. Anyway, if that’s what you think, why did you accept?’

Catelyn raised an eyebrow. ‘I was hardly in a position to refuse.’ She pinned Brienne with a stare. ‘Now, since clearly you have had a shock and may be suffering from a concussion, I am prepared to overlook your insubordination. Take the rest of the day off, go to hospital and get checked out. Take a taxi and claim it on expenses. I don’t wish to see you back here without medical clearance. However, when you do return, understand that it will be in your former role as Assistant Stage Manager. I shall be asking Stannis to take over as Stage Manager as of this afternoon. You may go.’

‘But, Catelyn’ –

‘No buts, Brienne. I gave you fair warning and you ignored me. Now please leave, before I reconsider the leniency of my actions. Good day.’

Feeling the tears coming, Brienne ran from the room and into the toilets. She locked herself in a stall and finally gave herself up to sobbing.

_This isn’t like Renly all over again_ , she thought miserably. _You wouldn’t have broken the rules for Renly. You wouldn’t have lost your job over Renly._

And she knew, then, the horrible, ugly, excruciating truth. Renly had been just a silly infatuation – the innocent feelings of a young girl easily won over by good looks and fake charm – painful, at the time, but as Catelyn had said, ultimately harmless.

But there was no denying, finally, that this was no crush.

She had fallen completely, agonisingly, hopelessly in love with Jaime Lannister.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who thinks the chandelier episode is a little far-fetched, or that I lifted it from 'Phantom of the Opera', here is a true story.
> 
> One of the theatres where I used to work (one of the two on which the theatre in this fic is based) had a chandelier much like the one described in this chapter. Basically, exactly this thing happened - it was being cleaned, and somehow it fell from the ceiling into the auditorium while unattended, and smashed to pieces, damaging a good number of the seats below (we had no centre aisle, unfortunately).
> 
> Fortunately, in the real-life case, there was nobody in there at the time and no-one was harmed. However, the potential for there to have been a truly horrific accident scared the management so much that they decided to hush it up. They bought a similar-looking, though smaller, replacement, but even so, many of our patrons were long-time regulars and the chandelier had been so iconic that a lot of people noticed.
> 
> We, as front of house staff, were forbidden on pain of dismissal from revealing to any member of the public what had actually happened. We weren't allowed to discuss it publicly amongst ourselves. If asked, we were instructed to say that it 'was old and had had to be replaced' and to leave it at that. So paranoid were the management about it slipping out, that we were even forbidden to allude obliquely to the truth in public hearing, and thus all mention of Phantom of the Opera, or the vintage British sitcom 'Only Fools and Horses' - which contains a very famous scene in which the heroes accidentally drop a priceless chandelier while trying to clean it (type 'Del Boy chandelier' into YouTube) - was also forbidden.
> 
> It's been ten years and I have literally never told anyone this story before. I even feel slightly guilty about typing it on here! So anyway, it made it into my fic but I stuck Brienne and Jaime in there because... well, you know why.


	9. Your vanity is ridiculous, your conduct an outrage, and your presence in my garden utterly absurd.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis maybe ships it a little bit. Lots of people lose their shit, and Brienne finally gets her groove back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter may be a little bit... angsty?? Angsty for me, anyway.
> 
> Let's all keep smiling though! Happy Wirral day, and May the 4th be with you.

**_Your vanity is ridiculous, your conduct an outrage, and your presence in my garden utterly absurd._ **

‘Hey, wench, wait up!’

Brienne paused halfway up the stairs before turning to look down on the face which she most and least wanted to see that morning. Jaime took the stairs two at a time and arrived beside her on the midway landing, beaming.

There had been a small gaggle of what were presumably reporters hanging around the stage door as she walked past to get to the entrance to the administrative wing. She had kept her head down and they had completely ignored her – obviously – but for Jaime to have arrived right after her without her noticing, and caught her up so fast, he too must have walked straight past them without stopping. She rather wished that they could have detained him for at least a few minutes so that she wouldn’t have had to face him. After yesterday, she probably shouldn’t even be seen speaking to him, and the sight of him made her feel jumpy.

Nonetheless, she felt her mouth curling into a helpless smile for the first time since the events of the previous afternoon. His hair was windblown and his eyes shining. It was a good look on him.

‘Hi,’ she said. Her stomach was fluttering.

He studied her face anxiously. ‘How’s your head? I heard you went to hospital. Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine. I got the all clear. Just a few bruises. No concussion.’

‘Phew, well that’s a relief.’ He pushed his hand down into his trouser pocket and bounced on his heels. ‘So anyway,’ he continued buoyantly, ‘it’s all sorted. I’ve got my father’s most trusted contractors on side – for a hefty cash incentive, but that’s fine – and they’ll be here first thing Monday. Complete with chandelier. They even called someone to put an emergency tarp over the hole for the time being. They said they won’t know for sure until they see the extent of the damage, but from the way I described it, they see no reason why we shouldn’t be able to rehearse on the stage by the end of next week, so long as you don’t mind there being a bit of scaffolding up. It should be clear by the final dress rehearsal though, no problem. Maybe even the tech rehearsal, weather permitting.’

Brienne gulped. She was going to have to tell him.

‘That’s – that’s great, Jaime. Thank you for arranging everything. You – you don’t know how much that means. But, um, as far as the rehearsals go’ – she broke off.

He frowned. ‘What?’

She took a deep breath. ‘You’re going to have to confirm those details with Stannis.’

‘Stannis?’

She raised her chin defiantly. ‘Yes. He’s the Stage Manager now. The rehearsal schedule is his responsibility. It’s – it’s not my job anymore. I’m – the Assistant Stage Manager.’ She looked at him, pleading with her eyes. _Don’t ask me, Jaime. Just, please, don’t ask me anything._

But of course, he wasn’t going to make it as easy as that. He took a step towards her, his eyes narrowing, searching hers. ‘Are you trying to tell me that they fucking _demoted_ you? What _happened_ yesterday after I left?’

She looked down, shuffling her feet and clutching her bag closer to her chest. ‘It – it wasn’t like that, really. Catelyn, um – she just thought’ –

‘Brienne?’ growled Jaime in a dangerous tone. ‘Last thing I remember, I was gallantly saving the theatre and everything was going swimmingly. Now I come in the next day to find it’s all gone to the seventh hell in a hand basket again, and our esteemed director has apparently taken leave of her paltry senses. Now, I’m going to ask you again. What _the fuck_ happened?’

_How can I ever explain this to him?_ she wondered desperately. He was standing a little too close and she could feel the heat of his body and his stare. She forced herself to take a step backwards and swallowed hard.

‘I broke health and safety regulations. You weren’t cleared to be in the auditorium, not while the set was still under construction. If anything had happened to you’ – _I’d have died. I’d have thrown myself under that stupid chandelier to save you._ ‘Um, it would have been the theatre’s liability,’ she finished miserably.

His face twisted into an expression of disbelief and he gave a snort of mirthless laughter, shaking his head.

‘Oh for the love of the fucking seven, I can’t believe that woman sometimes! I heard her old man was a stickler for regulations. Didn’t realise she was just as bad.’ He stepped towards her again and, without warning, suddenly put his right arm half around her shoulders in what she supposed was a comradely gesture, but which immediately made her tense up with shock and heat.

‘I’m a big boy, wench,’ he said in a lightly teasing tone, regarding her with a rueful smile. ‘I was in there under my own steam and I take full responsibility for my actions, and in any case, there was no harm done! Nobody is going to sue anybody, so there’s no need for her to make an example of you, if that’s what this is.’ He rubbed his stump up and down her back a little awkwardly and her knees nearly gave way. ‘Come on, cheer up! I’ll go and talk to Stannis and we’ll get this all sorted out in no time, you’ll see.’

‘No!’ she cried, wrenching herself away from him, imagining with horror how much worse the situation would get if Jaime suddenly started pleading for her to be given her job back. ‘Please, Jaime, I – I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but _please_ – stay out of it!’

This time, he must have caught the desperation in her voice and eyes because he leaned back abruptly, peering at her face again, and said warily, ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’

She felt close to tears. ‘No. No, there isn’t,’ she whispered.

He shook his head. ‘Don’t lie to me, wench. We know each other too well.’

Brienne’s heart did a somersault in her chest and she simply stared at him for a moment. It felt as though there was nothing but a flimsy dam holding back a tidal wave of feelings she could never express, words she could never say. She had to keep that dam in place, no matter what. But she couldn’t avoid telling him a part of the truth, that much was obvious.

‘I – um – Catelyn...’ she began. He was still staring expectantly. She took another deep breath. ‘Catelyn thinks that we, um - that I’ve spent so much time working with you that it’s, um, distracted me from my responsibilities towards the show as a whole,’ she managed. ‘Maybe, um, I’m just not ready to be in charge. You know?’ She glanced at him tentatively. _Please accept that. PLEASE leave it there. Don’t ask any more. Don’t, don’t, don’t._

To her surprise, his countenance darkened still further and he started to prowl around the small square of floor where they were standing. ‘This is all bloody Renly’s doing!’ he growled.

_‘Renly??’_ she echoed, unable to follow his train of thought. _Surely HE hadn’t figured out that she used to have a crush on Renly, too? That would be... beyond humiliating._

He whirled on her. ‘Yes of course! You saw how he carried on the other day. He deliberately made an idiot out of me over that muffin crap, and then put the blame onto you! The little weasel’s been doing his best to stab me in the back since day one. Not to mention the way Loras tried to humiliate me with that costume fitting. I’m not stupid, Brienne. The two of them go out of their way to make things awkward for me, and now they’re dragging you into it too! And to top it all, bloody Catelyn takes their side.’ He paused. ‘Well, I’ve had enough of it, do you hear? Enough! This is the final fucking straw.’ He turned again abruptly and began to bound up the next flight of stairs.

‘Jaime!’ she called, starting to chase after him. _‘Jaime!_ Wait!’

He stopped at last, one stair from the top, and swung around again to face her, eyes ablaze and jaw fiercely set.

‘Please,’ she gasped. ‘This isn’t Renly’s fault! It’s _my_ business, and I’m asking you _please_ not to get involved!’

He leaned towards her, his face an angry leer, but then his expression seemed to soften a little and he tilted his head. ‘Bit late for that,’ he said at last in a surprisingly quiet voice, looking at her intently.

‘Look,’ she began again, flustered by his gaze but attempting to calm herself and speak in a more reasonable tone. ‘Our one-to-one sessions are finished anyway. The first dress rehearsal is a week from today. We all need to focus on the good of the show now. We need a Stage Manager who can pull everyone together and not get mixed up in personal disputes. Clearly, that’s not me. It makes sense, Jaime. Catelyn’s right.’

He scowled again. ‘The hell she is. I’m not standing idly by while’ –

‘Oh gods, Jaime!!’ she hissed in helpless frustration. ‘Stop trying to _save_ me! I don’t know why you’re doing it but I don’t need it and I don’t want it! I can look after myself! You doing _this –_ can’t you see it’s only making matters worse?! Just – leave me alone!!’

They both froze.

Jaime stepped back sharply and blinked several times. ‘Leave you – leave you _alone?’_ he repeated slowly in a ragged voice.

The desire to fling herself into his arms and beg him to do the exact opposite was almost overwhelming, and Brienne put out a hand to steady herself on the banister. _I can’t bear to have him hovering around me, making me feel like this_ , she thought. _I guess it’s for the best._

She drew herself up and nodded, as serenely as she could manage. ‘Please, Mr Lannister. If you don’t mind.’ She saw him recoil physically at her use of the formal style of address. ‘I have a job to do and I’d like to just get on with it,’ she continued stoically. ‘And I’d rather not jeopardise my position any further by continuing to behave unprofessionally.’

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Jaime gulped and then cleared his throat.

‘Right. Fine,’ he said ungraciously. ‘I see.’ He took a microscopic step forward and pointed his finger into her face. ‘But this isn’t fucking over. With _those_ bastards, I mean.’ And with that, he turned his back, mounted the final step and slammed through the door into the corridor, leaving Brienne to collapse against the wall.

******************************************

The morning seemed to tick by interminably slowly, even though she was dreading the afternoon’s rehearsal and the prospect of seeing the looks of pity or disapproval on everyone’s faces. Loras wasn’t at his desk, and nobody came to speak to her. It was so quiet that her imagination started to run wild, conjuring visions of a vengeful Catelyn instructing the entire staff to ostracise her completely, until she was forced to talk herself back into some semblance of sanity.

She passed the time by checking through and sorting out all her production notes for Stannis. They were already meticulously organised, but she added a few things and annotated others in order to ensure as smooth a transition as she could when she handed over to him before the rehearsal.

She wasn’t even sure whether she was expected to attend the rehearsal or not, but had concluded from Catelyn’s comments the previous day that she was supposed to be on the book, if nothing else, while Stannis would presumably care of the more practical side of things and have Catelyn’s ear, as he had done for all previous productions.

At lunchtime, she broke her usual habit and went off site, trying to keep out of everyone’s way and distract herself, but her mind wouldn’t stop whirring, and it was with considerable trepidation that she gathered her things and walked into the rehearsal room at two o’clock.

Her hand was still on the door handle when Stannis appeared seemingly from nowhere, stopped her in the doorway and ushered her back out into the corridor, closing the door discreetly behind him.

‘Ah, Brienne,’ he said in a low murmur, glancing from side to side as though to check for eavesdroppers. ‘I’m glad I caught you.’

Her heart sank. ‘Hi, Stannis,’ she said, with as friendly and professional a smile as she could muster. ‘I’ve, um, brought my notes for you.’ She proffered the large ring binder which she was carrying.

He looked down and took it - somewhat reluctantly, it appeared - and fixed her with his piercing gaze.

‘Thank you,’ he said, then paused before continuing. ‘Now - I must confess that I was a little shocked yesterday when Catelyn approached me.’

Brienne braced herself for another lecture, while wondering what exactly Catelyn had told him. ‘I – I know,’ she stuttered. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry?’ he repeated. ‘Oh, I suppose you mean for the health and safety violation. Yes, well, that _is_ a serious matter and shouldn’t be taken lightly.’ He paused, frowning. ‘But what I was actually going to say was that I was shocked that Catelyn would even consider removing you from your position when you are clearly such an asset to the show.’

She gaped. ‘Has Jai – er, Mr Lannister said something to you?’ The question was out of her mouth before she could prevent it.

Stannis’s lips twitched slightly. ‘If you mean since yesterday, then no, he hasn’t. But I do know that he holds your work in extremely high regard, and based on what he’s told me previously, I have to say that I believe that Catelyn has made a miscalculation, and I told her so. Besides, as you are aware, I had no desire to stage manage this particular production, and that hasn’t altered.’

Brienne blinked. ‘What are you saying?’

‘I am saying that I, initially at least, declined Catelyn’s request that I take over the position from yourself.’

Her eyebrows rose. ‘But, I thought’ –

‘However,’ continued Stannis sternly, raising a finger to silence her, ‘when she explained to me that this was a disciplinary matter, I naturally found myself in something of a quandary. As Company Stage Manager, you understand that I cannot overlook a breach of regulations.’

She bowed her head. ‘Of course not.’

‘Nevertheless, upon ascertaining the facts, it does seem to have been in the nature of a rather minor infringement, and Sandor seems to have been equally responsible,’ he went on. ‘The incident with the chandelier was very unfortunate, of course, but you can scarcely be held accountable for that. I gather that you had rather a lucky escape. I trust you are uninjured?’

‘Yes, thank you. And it wasn’t _lucky_ , really. Jaime’ – she broke off, blushing.

He looked at her shrewdly. ‘Yes, well, the fact remains that neither of you should have been in a position to have been harmed in the first place. That is incontrovertible. On the other hand, no-one was injured, and your work on this production so far has been exemplary. I’m loath to see all of that being cast recklessly aside. In addition, I feel that it would be disrupting for the actors, at this juncture, to experience a discontinuity in backstage support. Actors find change unsettling, as indeed do I.’

There was a brief pause. Stannis cleared his throat and braced himself.

‘I have therefore decided, after due consideration,’ he announced with importance, ‘to allow you to continue as Stage Manager in all but name. I shall sit in on rehearsals, in a supervisory capacity, and I shall expect you to run any major decisions past me for approval, at least for the time being. But in essence, your role will remain unaltered. Are you in agreement with that arrangement, Brienne?’

Brienne gaped at him, uncertain whether to feel relieved or horrified. ‘That’s, um, very good of you, Stannis,’ she stammered eventually. ‘But I can’t possibly accept, I’m afraid.’

He balked. ‘Why ever not?’

‘It would be in direct disobedience of Catelyn’s wishes. I’ve already broken her trust once. I’m sorry, I can’t do it a second time. Besides, I _was_ lax with security and I broke the rules. I deserve to be punished for that.’

Stannis frowned ominously. ‘Well - Catelyn, I am sorry to say, sometimes does not know what is best for this theatre company and what is not,’ he responded tersely. ‘She was... displeased by my suggestion. However, since I refused in no uncertain terms to acquiesce to her demands, I’m afraid that she had very little alternative but to accept, eventually.’

She stiffened. ‘Well, I refuse too. I’m grateful, Stannis, but as I already said to Jaime – I mean, to Mr’ -

Stannis cocked an eyebrow. _‘Jaime_ ,’ he interrupted in a knowing voice, ‘recognises talent when he sees it. He’s extremely knowledgeable about theatre, you know. I’m afraid he’s rather wasted here, but that was always to be expected, I suppose.’ He sighed and looked up at her with the ghost of a smile. ‘Do I gather that he threatened to fight for your reinstatement, or some such thing?’

She hesitated, then gave a tentative nod. _Obviously Stannis can see through me as clearly as everyone else. I suppose there’s no point in pretending anymore._

‘As well he might,’ said Stannis primly. ‘You have a worthy champion there, Brienne. But I can see that you are determined to succeed or fail on your own terms. Which is only to your credit, of course. Nevertheless, I can’t help but wish you had not discussed the matter with him, at least not before speaking to me. The cast should always be shielded from backstage politics, as far as possible. From what I can deduce, this production is already riddled with sufficient discord without adding further fuel to the fire.’

She chewed her lip and shuffled her feet a little. ‘Yes, I know. Sorry. It – it won’t happen again.’

‘Very well then.’ He presented her binder. ‘I believe that you need this more than I do.’

‘But, I just said’ –

‘Brienne, if you refuse to accept the role of Stage Manager then I don’t have the wherewithal to force you. However, I am not in the business of reinventing the wheel. I will embrace the role, since you leave me no choice, but rest assured that I shall be calling upon your existing knowledge of this production as often as I can. You will be a true assistant to me. I’m certain that everything in here’ – he tapped the binder – ‘is quite comprehensive. Unless you have any specific questions?’

Brienne blinked again. ‘Um – I – no, not really.’

‘Good,’ he said with finality. ‘Shall we go in, then? Just to bring you up to speed, Miss Redwyne is regrettably indisposed today, so we’ve had to postpone work on Act Three for now. She assures me that she’ll be fighting fit by Monday, but in the meantime we’re revising Act Two, Scene One. Luwin and Nan have agreed to attend at the last moment in order to accommodate this.’

She hesitated. Act Two, Scene One was Jaime’s most hated scene, she knew. It was fraught with issues - the mourning suit, his entrance from the side of the auditorium, and an awful lot of hand-shaking – none of which had been fully resolved during their blocking sessions, and the only time they had tried to rehearse it properly had ended in disaster. It definitely needed work, but she wished it didn’t have to be today. Under the circumstances, a less sensitive and stressful scene would have been preferable.

Stannis touched her lightly on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Brienne. This is theatre. You know how things work. By next week, all of this will be forgotten, mark my words.’

_I hope so,_ she thought grimly. _Though I don’t see how that’s possible._ With a deep breath, she pulled her shoulders back and followed him into the room.

Catelyn bade her a curt ‘Good afternoon’ as she took her place next to Stannis.

Brienne nodded in response and glanced anxiously at the actors. Renly was pacing at one side of the room, and his expression when he saw Brienne looked equal parts smug and irritated. Margaery and Nan were already in place on the set. Margaery glanced up, caught Brienne’s eye and mouthed, ‘Are you okay?’

Brienne simply nodded again. She was still feeling somewhat annoyed with Margaery - and Sansa and Ygritte - for having tricked her into spending time alone with Jaime on the night of Roose Bolton’s appearance. _Of course it was all just a big joke to them._ Yet here she was, demoted from her job, and with her heart feeling like it was going through a mincing machine every time she laid eyes on him.

Jaime himself was curled into a chair on the far left of the room, his face half obscured by his hair, hugging his body like a wounded animal. His eyes flickered briefly over Brienne with a hunted expression.

_Was I a bit unkind to him?_ _He was only trying to help me, after all._ Tentatively, she tried a tiny, apologetic smile, but his face simply clouded with anger and he looked away. Clearly he was hurt by her rejection of his gallantry. She could hardly blame him. The thought of causing him pain was like a knife twisting in her belly, but it wouldn’t do to allow any more tender feelings for him to overcome her. He would just have to get over it. _As will I_ , she thought glumly. _As will I. I just wish I knew how._

Eventually, the scene got underway. Margaery’s performance was flawless, Nan and Luwin adorable together as always, and the meeting scene between Margaery and Renly had the potential to be very sweet, although Renly kept forgetting his lines and scowled every time Brienne prompted him.

Then there was an ugly silence. Everyone looked at Jaime, who hadn’t moved from his chair.

_Should I prompt him?_ wondered Brienne. Jaime had never before missed a single cue. She wasn’t entirely sure of the etiquette of the new situation. Technically, she was only there to prompt lines when requested. Exits and entrances were Stannis’ remit now, but he was leaning over her shoulder and – rather ostentatiously, it seemed to her – peering through his reading glasses to try and find where they were in the script. She wished he’d just taken her binder like she’d wanted.

Finally, Catelyn gave them both a withering look, sighed, and said in a pointed tone, ‘Your entrance, Mr Lannister.’

Slowly, Jaime raised his head and shook the hair out of his eyes. ‘Yes, I know,’ he rumbled, in a voice of suppressed menace. ‘But we’ve yet to decide where I’m entering _from.’_

‘We’ve been over this,’ replied Catelyn brusquely. ‘From the auditorium, and up the side steps.’

There was another pause. ‘Ye-ee-ahh, I’m not doing that,’ said Jaime at last with a slight shake of his head.

Catelyn narrowed her eyes. ‘Mr Lannister. The time for querying and amending these things is past. You and _Brienne_ ’ – she spoke her name through gritted teeth – ‘had ample opportunity to come to me with alternative suggestions some weeks ago.’

‘Yes, well, we couldn’t agree,’ said Jaime mildly. ‘Or rather, I didn’t agree with her. It wasn’t her fault.’

_Oh gods, not this again._

Catelyn cleared her throat. ‘Well, may I ask why at the last rehearsal you seemed amenable enough to making the entrance as per my instruction?’

Jaime gave a fake smile. ‘I wasn’t working with the full information then, so I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt. Now that I’ve actually _seen_ the auditorium, there’s no way in all the hells I’m coming up those steps. One, I’d be mere feet from the audience – inches, even, from the end of the front row. People would be able to see me close up, even touch me, if they felt so inclined. Two, it’s stage right, and we agreed I’d only enter stage left. And three, it’s dangerous in there. You never know when you might get taken out by a low-flying object.’ He winked.

Margaery giggled slightly but managed to stifle it behind her hand. Brienne felt herself blushing and tried to wriggle down further in her chair.

Catelyn emitted a sound like a soft growl. She ground her jaw for a moment, then said tightly, ‘Your proximity to the audience is rather _the point_ , Mr Lannister. People like to feel that they are close to... _celebrities_. It gives them a thrill, and frankly, it allows us to charge more for tickets in the first three rows.’

‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ muttered Renly.

‘Still not doing it,’ said Jaime petulantly. ‘Check my contract.’

Catelyn swallowed hard. ‘Well, where do you suggest you enter from, then?’ she asked, with barely concealed exasperation.

‘Upstage.’

‘You can’t. The entirety of the flats are covered by the garden backdrop in Act Two.’

‘From the wings, then,’ he suggested. _‘Stage Left.’_

Catelyn sighed. ‘Must I go over this again? The wings represent the house, stage right, and the road to the village, stage left. You and Renly need to enter from somewhere different, to show that you have arrived from elsewhere.’

‘We’ve arrived from the station,’ argued Jaime. ‘What, that’s not in the village? Talk sense.’

‘It’s symbolic,’ Catelyn protested. ‘It reinforces the contrast in the minds of the audience.’

‘Bollocks.’

Brienne was suddenly aware of Stannis leaning close to her ear. ‘What was your proposed solution to this conundrum?’ he asked quietly.

She turned sharply to look at him. He was regarding her over the top of his glasses, with what looked like a challenge in his eyes. She smiled. ‘I suggested we build some steps stage left,’ she whispered back. ‘He wasn’t convinced though, so I didn’t push it.’

Stannis nodded, laid his hand very gently on her arm for the briefest of seconds, and then abruptly cleared his throat loudly. ‘Ah – Catelyn, if I may?’

‘What is it, Stannis?’ Catelyn snapped.

‘If I may,’ he repeated. ‘Perhaps – if we were to build some steps at the left side of the stage? There’s more space to pass between the wall and the audience on that side.’ Jaime’s head jerked up and Brienne saw his eyes dart rapidly between her and Stannis. ‘In addition,’ Stannis went on, ‘the end four seats of the front row are the house seats and will therefore generally be unoccupied, barring unforeseen eventualities, or oversold performances.’

‘Like _that’s_ ever going to happen,’ snorted Renly.

‘Renly. Please,’ admonished Stannis.

Catelyn scowled a little, then turned to Jaime. ‘Would that be _acceptable_ to you?’ she asked icily.

Jaime looked to Brienne, a little warily, as though seeking her approval. She was completely confused as to what was going on. She shrugged. Jaime frowned.

‘Fine,’ he announced grudgingly. ‘Stage left steps it is.’

‘Very good,’ said Catelyn after a second’s hesitation. ‘Stannis, please would you mark it down as a job for Sandor.’

‘Actually,’ Brienne spoke up, ‘ _I’m_ building most of the set.’ She couldn’t help but notice Jaime’s smile as she did so.

Catelyn looked murderous. ‘I see. My mistake. Well, the sooner you can get on with it, the better. We’ll need them ready, as soon as we can get into the auditorium to rehearse. _Whenever that may be,’_ she added pointedly. ‘Mr Baratheon – obviously this means your entrance in this scene will be from the same location.’

Renly strode angrily into the centre of the room. ‘Oh, you _have_ to be kidding me! That’s going to mean changing my blocking for the entire scene! And Margaery’s, and everyone else’s!’

‘Nonsense,’ said Catelyn shortly. ‘When you enter, simply cross to stage right, as though you’re looking around the garden or something, and then you can carry on exactly as before. It will mean some tweaking to Mr Lannister’s first scene here, but it needn’t affect _you_.’

‘Course it _affects_ me!’ cried Renly. ‘He’s going to be in a different place when Margaery and I come back on for the handshake scene. We’re all going to have to dance around him like bloody puppets, as per usual! Why do you let him push you around like this, Cat?’

Jaime rose. ‘Oh yeah, that’s the other thing,’ he drawled. ‘The ‘handshake’ scene. That’s not happening, is it? I mean, Luwin and I have already agreed to cut the handshaking from our little bit - isn’t that right, Luwin, old chap?’

The older man nodded emphatically. ‘It seemed for the best, Catelyn,’ he said apologetically. ‘Under the circumstances. I don’t think the scene suffers for it. You don’t mind, do you, dear?’

‘Well...’ began Catelyn. She seemed rather at a loss for words. ‘I can’t say I approve of you cutting things willy-nilly without my say-so, but I suppose it’s not _crucial._ But the handshake with Algernon most definitely is.’

‘Too damned right!’ exclaimed Renly, astounded. ‘It’s not even up for discussion! It’s pivotal to the scene - to the entire play, in fact - and there are several lines of dialogue about it. Come on!’

‘We’re cutting it,’ said Jaime defensively. ‘I’m not doing it.’

Not for the first time, Brienne had to suppress the urge to march over and give him a good shake. She didn’t like where this was going.

Catelyn was chewing her lip indecisively.

‘Cat? This is _insane!_ ’ insisted Renly.

‘Surely – no offence, but couldn’t you shake hands with your left?’ Catelyn implored Jaime.

‘Not doing it,’ he repeated again. ‘It just draws attention.’

‘Attention?!’ shouted Renly. _‘Attention?!!_ That’s what you fucking _want!_ This whole fucking show has been _all about you_ , hasn’t it? From the very fucking start! “Ooh, look at me, I’m Jaime Lannister, I’m so famous, I’m so broken, hear me fucking roar and then pet my fucking belly!” Gods, you make me _sick!!’_

_‘I_ make _you_ sick??!’ yelled Jaime in retort, advancing towards him threateningly. ‘ _You_ are a jealous, talentless, jumped-up little asshole, and I am sick to fucking death of your ableist _bullshit!_ I get zero _fucking_ understanding from _anyone_ here!’

‘Now, Jaime’ – interjected Stannis placatingly.

Jaime shot him a glare, and then turned it on Brienne with double the ferocity.

‘Even people whom I thought I could trust seem more concerned with self-preservation,’ he growled bitterly, staring at her.

‘And about bloody time!’ exclaimed Renly, following his gaze. ‘Not everyone’s made of Teflon like you are, _Kingslayer._ Stop trying to drag decent people down to your muck-infested level!’

‘ _My_ _level?_ Oh, that is _rich!_ My very _lowest_ level is _so_ far above you, Baratheon, you can’t even see the bottom of it from the top of that fucking ivory tower which you like to prance about in!’

_‘Yeah?? Yeahh??’_ sneered Renly. The two men were nose to nose now. ‘Well I’ve got news for you, _Lannister_. _Your_ ivory tower came crashing down the day they chopped your hand off. You’re finished. History. _A has-been._ And not a day too soon, if you ask me. Isn’t there a nice retirement home for crippled assholes somewhere, where you could live out the rest of your days, weeping over the memories of your past ‘glory’? Or maybe Daddy would buy you one, if you ask him nicely.’

_‘How dare you?’_ snarled Jaime. ‘I don’t have to fucking put up with this offensive crap!’

‘Says the master of offensive crap,’ Renly snapped back. ‘You want respect? Try treating other people with some.’ He turned. ‘Catelyn, I’m done. I simply cannot work with this guy any longer. Either he goes, or I go!’

A stunned silence fell. _Oh gods_ , thought Brienne. _Oh gods, no._

Catelyn’s face was awash with panic. There was a long, long pause. Finally, in a tiny voice, she said, ‘Renly, I’m sorry, but I _did_ warn you’ –

Renly’s face crumpled in shock and disbelief. ‘ _No_. No. Cat!’

She shook her head sadly.

Renly gulped. ‘Well, that’s just great,’ he said at last, nodding slowly. ‘Seven fucking hells, Cat. I thought we were friends.’ Angrily, he grabbed his jacket and his script from his chair, and walked out of the room, letting the door bang behind him.

There was a beat of silence. ‘Look, Catelyn’ – Jaime began.

Catelyn rose from her seat and turned to face him, her look of fury making her appear almost sub-human. She bared her teeth, and spat in a deathly hiss, ‘Get. Out. Of. My. _Sight._ ’

Jaime took an involuntary step backwards. ‘But’ –

_‘GO!!’_ she yelled.

He opened his mouth to speak again, seemed to think better of it, and finally, without looking back, exited in Renly’s footsteps. The door banged for a second time.

This time, the silence seemed to go on forever. Finally, it was broken when Catelyn collapsed into her chair and began to sob quietly.

Brienne, Nan and Margaery all rushed over to her. Brienne’s head was spinning.

‘There, there, dear,’ Nan was saying. ‘It’ll all come out in the wash, don’t you worry.’

Margaery offered Catelyn a bottle of water. She took a few sips, pulled a tissue from her cardigan pocket and dabbed at her eyes.

Brienne hovered behind Nan. Normally she would have been the first one at Cat’s side, but the events of the last five minutes had all happened in such a blur and she was having trouble processing them, her heart half running out of the door after Jaime and half longing to comfort the weeping woman before her, whom she so admired and cared for.

Finally, Catelyn pulled herself together a little, and looked up at everyone apologetically.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you. I’m okay.’

Stannis coughed. ‘It seems to me,’ he began stentoriously, ‘that in situations such as this, the best course of action is generally’ –

‘Save it, Stannis,’ interrupted Catelyn in a weary voice. ‘You may as well know. I’m so worn out from pretending, you’ve no idea.’

‘Pr-pretending what?’ stammered Brienne, finding her voice at long last.

Catelyn glanced up at her. ‘We’re finished,’ she said. ‘Winterfell is finished. Bankrupt. Or, as good as. Ticket sales have been hopeless this year, I don’t need to tell any of you that. I’m in so much debt it’s crazy. I just – haven’t got it together since Ned died. I’m no good at the financial stuff. This show was supposed to be my last stand against the creditors. Tyrion Lannister persuaded me that if I hired Jaime to play Jack, it would boost our sales sufficiently to save the theatre, especially if we could get a King’s Landing run out of it too. It’s the only reason I cast him. I knew he’d be a liability, although I underestimated the extent of it. But without him, it’s just an unexceptional show like all the others we do here, with unexceptional takings to match. That’s why I had to choose him over Renly. But let’s be honest, I need Renly as well, and clearly they can’t work together. It was an impossible choice. The show’s over.’

‘Did Jaime know about this?’ asked Stannis.

Catelyn sighed hopelessly. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure. Possibly not. I’m not even sure why he took the role. His brother seemed to think it would be therapeutic for him, in some way. He told me he’d tried everything else to break through Jaime’s depression regarding his disability. I could hardly say no – to that, or to any of Jaime’s other... demands.’

‘Well, I think you deserve kudos for trying,’ said Margaery kindly. ‘Not everyone would have been so understanding.’

Catelyn looked at her pityingly. ‘Oh you sweet summer child,’ she murmured. ‘You haven’t heard the whole story yet. I didn’t do this out of charity, or even just to save the theatre. Tyrion Lannister _bribed_ me. He said that if I cast Jaime in the show and it was successful, then’ – she looked down and twirled the tissue desperately between her fingers – ‘then he would get Sansa an all-expenses-paid, guaranteed internship in the make-up department at Lannister Productions. It’s her dream!’ she cried, looking up. ‘I did it for _Sansa!_ She’s got no idea, but’ - She sniffed. ‘And now it’s never going to happen – not for her, not for any of us! We’re all out of a job and there’s a hole in the roof and now we’re all going to have to go and work in the hypermarket in Winter Town!’ she wailed.

‘There, there,’ said Margaery, rubbing Catelyn’s back. ‘Maybe it’s for the best, you know? I mean, it’s not like you could have put Jaime up on stage with that beard, anyway!’ she added in a joking tone, trying to cheer her up.

Catelyn smiled a watery smile. ‘Well, yes, I _was_ starting to wonder how on earth I could broach that with him...’ she murmured distractedly. ‘Oh gods, though! I’ve screwed everything up!’ She burst into a fresh torrent of sobs through which Brienne could just about make out the words, ‘I – wish – Ned – was – here!’

That was what did it.

Brienne stood up, stiffened her jaw and announced firmly, ‘Right. That is IT. I am sorting this _out_.’

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I did it. A cliffhanger!! Of sorts, anyway. Actually I just split the chapter, so it wasn't planned that way. I won't make you wait too long, promise.


	10. I never change, except in my affections.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne tells it like it is. With mixed results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, so this one turned out a little angstier than I planned, too. Sorry. It's also long, and has a lot of dialogue, so fair warning to those who aren't so keen on that.
> 
> On the plus side - Selwyn! And a little bit of Jon/Ygritte.

 

**_I never change, except in my affections._ **

****

Ignoring the five shocked faces gaping after her, Brienne strode from the room, closed the door behind her and hesitated for a moment outside.

To the right, the corridor led to the office area, where she knew Renly would have stormed off to seek Loras. Straight ahead were the stairs which would take her, she was sure, to wherever Jaime had gone. Silencing the screaming of her heart which told her to chase down those stairs as fast as she could, she took a deep breath, muttered, ‘First things first,’ and turned determinedly to the right.

Loras’ desk was deserted as it had been all day. Sansa and one or two of the other admin staff looked up in surprise as Brienne stalked past them. She supposed that she must look rather comical, stomping around red-faced and furious as she was, but she was past caring, and refused to catch Sansa’s eye even though she heard the girl call her name curiously.

A dozen long strides brought her to the door of Loras’ studio, from which voices were audible inside. She somehow managed to restrain herself from bursting through the door in a fury, and settled for a loud, authoritative knock. The voices fell silent but there was no answer.

Brienne knocked again, a little more insistently.

‘Renly?’ she called fiercely. ‘I know you’re in there!’

After a moment’s pause, the door was flung open by a stone-faced Loras. Behind him, the small room was littered on all surfaces with reams of bright-coloured silks, feathers, frock coats, hats, gloves, boots, parasols and other accessories. A few half-finished costumes stood adorning mannequins along one side of the room – a gorgeous green and white gown, a dapper-looking blue men’s outfit which she supposed to be Renly’s, and a vast, hideous, lace-trimmed black concoction of a housemaid’s dress which, she realised with a jolt of horror, must be her own.

Renly was sitting up on one of the workbenches, huddled between Loras’ sewing machine and what looked like a pile of white shirts which he had pushed roughly aside. He was swinging his feet against the leg of the bench with an irritating ‘thud – thud’, while twirling a reel of white thread agitatedly between his fingers. His elevated position brought his face directly to Brienne’s eye level – a fact which she briefly regretted. This was one of those moments when using her height to tower over people would have proved useful.

Renly stared at her coldly for a moment and then scowled. ‘Did _she_ send you?’ he barked bitterly. ‘Because if so, you can just fuck off again. I’ve got nothing to say and I’m not coming back.’

Brienne swallowed and attempted to keep her voice calm. ‘She didn’t,’ she said, raising her chin.

‘What d’you want then?’ snapped Loras. ‘We’re trying to have a private moment here. Can’t you see Ren’s upset?’

‘I know. I’m sorry,’ Brienne said placatingly. ‘I don’t mean to interrupt, but I really do need to talk to Renly. May I come in? Please, Loras?’ she added when the two men exchanged dubious looks.

Finally, Renly shrugged. Looking none too happy about it, Loras stood aside a few inches and allowed her to pass into the room, closing the door after her. There was an awkward pause.

‘Well then? Spit it out,’ growled Renly irritably.

Brienne took a deep breath. To be honest, she wasn’t entirely sure what she had planned to say. Her first instinct – to yell and rage at Renly for his selfish behaviour – was quelled somewhat by reminding herself that he hadn’t been present for Catelyn’s confession and therefore was unaware of what the full consequences of his actions might be. She also knew without a doubt that Jaime was at least as much to blame.

The words that fell out of her mouth therefore surprised her.

‘You need to apologise to Jaime,’ she blurted.

Loras gave a snort of bitter laughter.

Renly stared incredulously. ‘Yeah, _right._ Give me a break, Brienne. You heard how he talked to me. You saw how he behaved. He’s an asshole. He shouldn’t even fucking be here.’

Brienne took a few more steadying breaths and then looked Renly sharply in the eye. ‘Yes, he’s an asshole,’ she agreed. ‘And yes, his behaviour was completely unacceptable, and I intend to tell him so. Gods know, it’s about time _somebody_ did.’ Both men looked at her with renewed interest at this admission. She breathed again. ‘But that doesn’t excuse what you said to him, Renly. The man has a disability, for heavens’ sake. One which he’s clearly having difficulty coming to terms with. I’m not saying we should all walk on eggshells around him – personally I think he’s had way too much of that for his own good – but teasing and insulting him about it directly is below the belt and it’s prejudiced and you know it.’

Renly dropped his head. Loras opened his mouth to speak – something sarcastic, judging by his expression – but Brienne held up a hand.

‘And I’m sorry, Loras, but you’re just as bad – with your “Spot the Stump” and your stupid question marks and your jokes about his costume,’ she snapped. ‘What did he ever do to you anyway?’

‘Oh, you mean besides waltzing in and stealing Ren’s role, calling me a “stuffed ocelot” among other things, and getting _you_ of all people to redesign _my_ entire set just to fit around his diva whims? He doesn’t give a fuck about this show or about anyone else – and that includes you, Brienne.’

Renly raised his eyes and looked from Loras to Brienne with what appeared to be a slight wince of sympathy.

‘ _Lor_ ,’ he murmured in a tone of mild reprove.

Brienne didn’t want sympathy from either of them. ‘Really?’ she barked. ‘So that would be why he threw himself off the stage to save my life when the chandelier almost fell on me, then? And why he’s paying to repair the roof in time for the show, and donating a priceless chandelier of his own to replace ours?’ She paused for a second to let that sink in, and then spun back to Renly. ‘How much do _you_ care about this show, Renly? About this theatre?’

Renly shifted a little uncomfortably on the bench and fiddled furiously with the cotton reel. ‘I _care_ ,’ he grunted sullenly. ‘But there are limits, for fuck’s sake.’

‘Oh?’ she retorted. ‘What about if the theatre was about to go bust, and if this show – with Jaime in the lead role and you in yours – was the only thing which could save it? Would that be one of your _limits?’_

Renly stared. ‘That’s – that’s not’ –

‘ _Yes, it is,’_ said Brienne. ‘Catelyn just told us all, right after you and Jaime left. Yes, that’s right, she kicked him out too,’ she clarified in response to his stupefied expression. ‘She’s beside herself, thanks to you. Come on, Renly – think about it. Why else would she have cast him in the first place?’

‘Um, because his brother _bribed_ her to?’ put in Loras. ‘She admitted as much to us in that first meeting. Or had you conveniently forgotten that?’

Brienne swallowed. This was slightly dangerous ground. She didn’t want to reveal Sansa’s role in the affair in case Sansa herself should find out – something which Catelyn had clearly been anxious to prevent, to avoid disappointing her daughter if it all failed to work out.

‘I know that,’ she responded carefully. ‘But that had to do with Tyrion Lannister’s own agenda. From Catelyn’s point of view, she was simply offered an unprecedented opportunity to revive Winterfell’s fortunes. Seriously, we’re on the point of bankruptcy – she just admitted the whole thing to us. She – she hasn’t been coping since Mr Stark passed away. We’ve just all been too blind to see it.’ She turned to Renly again, pleading. ‘You _have_ to come back, Renly. We open in _thirteen days_. It’s too late to recast, and anyway, Catelyn needs _you_. We all need you. But it’s never going to work unless you and Jaime can bury the hatchet.’

‘What about you?’ said Renly drily after a moment’s pause. ‘He got you fired, didn’t he? Are _you_ going to forgive him?’

Brienne blushed slightly and stiffened. ‘My being demoted was between myself and Catelyn. I disobeyed her orders and broke the rules. She took the sanctions which she thought appropriate. That’s all. Besides – Stannis wanted me to carry on being SM anyway, so I don’t even know where I stand any more, not really. But it’s all a bit of a moot point if there’s no show, isn’t it?’ She paused again. ‘ _Please_ , Renly? I – I know you’re better than this. Don’t let petty jealousy ruin everything. Please.’

Renly and Loras exchanged looks. Loras shrugged resignedly. Renly looked down at the cotton reel and twiddled it thoughtfully a few more times before placing it down on the bench beside him.

‘Fine,’ he said eventually, looking up at Brienne. ‘I’ll apologise to him and give it another go – IF’ – he added quickly with an outstretched finger, as Brienne started to smile – _‘if_ he also apologises to me. _And_ if he’s prepared to start behaving a little more professionally. I meant it, I can’t carry on working with him, not the way it’s been.’ He shook his head sharply. ‘He always was too big for his own fucking boots. I’m sorry I lost it back there, but I was just trying to take him down a peg or two. Like you said, somebody certainly needs to.’

Brienne inhaled in relief and smiled. ‘Consider it done,’ she said.

‘Yeah, good luck with that,’ snorted Loras sarcastically. ‘What makes you think he’s going to listen to you?’

Brienne blushed. ‘Because I might just be the only person around here whom he trusts enough to hear the truth from,’ she answered grimly – and then faltered, remembering the look of cold hurt in Jaime’s eyes. ‘Or, at least, I was,’ she corrected miserably. ‘I don’t know. All I know is, I have to try. For the good of the show. Anyway, Loras,’ she went on, shaking herself slightly, ‘if I _can_ get Jaime to apologise and toe the line – at least a _little_ \- then I’m going to need you to behave more respectfully towards him too, you know. It’s a two-way street. If Renly can, then so can you.’ She paused and glanced with distaste at the black dress. ‘Otherwise, there is no way I’m wearing _that!’_

Loras gave a smirk of grudging admiration. ‘Fighting talk, eh, Brie?’ he said in a teasing but not unfriendly tone. She noted his use of the abbreviation with some relief. Maybe things weren’t as bad as they appeared.

‘I’m just sick of us all being at each other’s throats like this,’ she sighed. ‘This used to be such a great place to work. A brilliant team spirit, you know? Now, though - we seem to have lost that somehow.’

‘Yeah, well, blame your boyfriend for that,’ muttered Loras.

Brienne flushed scarlet and clenched her fists. ‘For the last time, he is _not_ my “boyfriend”,’ she gritted out. _‘As if._ Come on, Loras! I won’t deny that things have become – well, _tense_ – since Jaime got here, but all that matters now is helping Catelyn pull us all out of this crisis. Unless you _want_ to go back to working in the House of Myr shop in Highgarden, that is? Yeah, Margaery told me,’ she added with a slight sneer of triumph when he started with embarrassment.

‘You know what?’ sighed Renly with finality. ‘Here’s the deal, Brienne. It’s Friday. Get this sorted by Monday afternoon’s rehearsal and we’ll both forget the whole thing. Okay? But when I say “sorted”, you know what I’m talking about, right? No more crap. Not from _anyone_ , and that includes Catelyn, Stan, _and_ you. It’s like you said, it’s a two-way street. I’ll come down my side, but I expect to be met halfway, and I don’t see why Loras should expect any less. Deal?’

Brienne took a breath and nodded. ‘Deal. I’ll do – I’ll do whatever I can, Renly. You have my word. Both of you. And – thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ said Renly grimly. ‘The show must go on, right Lor?’

‘Whatever,’ muttered Loras. Renly raised an eyebrow. ‘Okay, _fine,’_ agreed Loras grudgingly at last. ‘But I won’t be holding my breath, put it that way.’

Finding she had nothing further to add, Brienne gave a curt nod and turned to leave the room.

‘Good luck,’ called Renly’s voice kindly from behind her. She spun on her heel. He shrugged, a sympathetic smile on his lips. ‘You might need it.’

Brienne returned his smile with dry resignation. ‘Yeah,’ she agreed. ‘I might.’

****************************************************

She found Jaime sitting on the step outside the cafeteria, surrounded by cigarette butts and three coffee cups – two empty, and the third still steaming by his side. A fresh cigarette was at his lips and his hair was a mess, blown into a wild golden mop by the wind. He glanced up as she approached, but didn’t otherwise react.

She stopped a few feet in front of him. ‘Jaime.’

He took a long drag on the cigarette, deftly manoeuvred it between his fourth finger and his pinkie, then reached out and gripped the coffee cup with his remaining fingers. He raised it to his lips, took a sip, slowly replaced it on the ground, moved the cigarette back to its original position between his second and third fingers, took another puff, and only then did he crane his head briefly up to Brienne’s face, before looking down again.

‘You took your time,’ he drawled laconically.

Brienne’s jaw dropped. _Had he actually been_ expecting _her to come after him?_ Waiting _for her?_ His arrogance made her blood boil.

‘I was talking to Renly and Loras,’ she said pointedly.

Jaime snorted without looking at her. ‘Figures. Still, seeing as you’ve already made it clear that you want nothing further to do with me, I suppose I should be grateful that you’re out here at all, even if it _is_ as an envoy for the opposition.’

She clenched her fists and her teeth. ‘I’m not an _envoy_ for anyone,’ she growled. ‘I’m here of my own free will, thank you very much.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I care about the show and about this theatre,’ she recited, feeling the emptiness of the words as she did so. ‘And because somebody around here needs to stop everyone else from acting like children.’

He snorted again. ‘Tell that to _“Mr_ Baratheon”.’

‘I did,’ she said, trying to remain patient. _Really, this was like déjà vu._ ‘I told him to apologise to you. He said he would, if you apologise to him.’ He looked up at her, long-suffering. ‘Jaime, come on, _somebody_ has to swallow their pride first,’ she begged. ‘Otherwise this whole theatre is going under and everyone is out of a job. That may not make much of a difference to _you_ , I know, but we’re talking about a lot of people’s livelihoods here.’

He glanced up at her again, confused. ‘What are you on about? I said I’d pay for the roof and the chandelier and I’ll stick by that.’

She huffed. ‘Not that. The theatre was in financial trouble before that, as it turns out. _Big_ financial trouble. Catelyn just told us. She said that’s – that’s why she hired you.’ She squirmed a little at the confession, but decided she just couldn’t bear to keep anything else from him. ‘Well, that, and your brother promised Sansa a chance at her dream career if she did. But don’t mention that to anyone. Please.’

Jaime grinned slowly. ‘So _that’s_ how Tyrion swung it. I did wonder.’ He took another puff of his cigarette and his grin faded. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have listened to him. “It’ll be good for you, Jaime. You know the theatre was your first love, Jaime. It’ll showcase your true talents, Jaime.” Manipulative little bastard. I swear, he and my sister inherited all of our father’s evil, devious genes. Which is a lot.’

‘And what genes did you inherit? The pig-headed, arrogant ones?’ she snapped. ‘Can’t you see that your brother’s only trying to help you? Though frankly, I don’t know why he bothers. He must have the patience of a septon.’

‘Well at least he fucking understands how I feel,’ he retorted, in a high, petulant tone, grabbing his coffee again. As he did so, a sudden gust of wind blew all of his unruly hair into his face and he made an instinctive movement to push it back with his missing right hand, growling ‘Fuck!’ in frustration as he failed at the task with only stump and sleeve.

All at once, Brienne felt blinding anger towards him sweep over her like a giant red tidal wave. Anger at his arrogance and his unprofessionalism. Anger for subjecting her to humiliation at the hands of her colleagues. Anger for making her love him – _gods, yes, that more than anything_. But above all, anger at his ridiculous refusal to move on from his injury and to deal with his disability.

She took a step towards him and leaned down menacingly. ‘You think _I_ don’t know how you _feel?_ ’ she hissed, her voice low and shaking. ‘Look at my _face_ , Jaime! Take a _good_ look at it. And the rest of me, for that matter. You think I’ve never had to endure comments, or funny looks, or taunts? Because, let me tell you, _I have_. Every _day_ , for as long as I can remember! But you just have to learn to rise above it! What Renly said to you was horrendous, and I told him so, but words are wind, Jaime. It’s not worth sitting out here crying into your coffee over. And it’s certainly not worth throwing away weeks of hard work and everybody’s jobs over, as you would realise if you stopped feeling so damned sorry for yourself and considered other people for five fucking seconds!’

Jaime gaped at her in disbelief and climbed slowly to his feet. Brienne was trembling, but forced herself to hold his gaze. He leaned in to her slightly.

‘I don’t think you quite understand, _wench,’_ he sneered cruelly. ‘I had a career which was based primarily on my looking a certain way. I won _Westeros’s Sexiest Man_ eight years running, for fuck’s sake!’

She couldn’t prevent a blush from forming, but hoped it was subsumed by the high colour of her fury. ‘Oh, whereas _I’m_ never going to win _Westeros’s Sexiest Anything_ , so it doesn’t matter how I feel, is that it?!’

Jaime ground his jaw. ‘That’s NOT what I meant, and in any case that’s a very long way from the truth!’ Brienne blinked. ‘But what he said in there _is_ true,’ he went on more quietly. ‘I’m finished. I’ve been avoiding it, but I know he’s right, deep down. And I _do_ know that Tyrion means well, but what’s the fucking point?’

‘Oh my GODS, Jaime! You lost a _hand,_ that’s all! Get over it!’

He gawped. _‘That’s ALL?’_ he repeated in a dangerous tone. ‘Brienne. Tell me you didn’t just say “That’s all”?’

‘Yes!!’ she shouted. ‘Yes, I did! You – you’re more than a hand, Jaime! Yes, it’s a terrible thing to happen and yes, I wish with all my heart that it hadn’t happened to you, but it’s _just_ a hand. Even without it, you have more advantages and privileges than most people could ever dream of! Can you really, honestly not see that? You’ve got fame, money, l-looks, and – and an amazing talent. You’re still young. You could achieve absolutely anything you want to. You’re really going to just throw that all away because of one small misfortune?’

He gave her an evil glare and then turned and began pacing. ‘You have _no_ idea what it’s like,’ he growled. ‘Do you know how many offers I received to play pirates, after this happened? Fourteen, Brienne. In the first year alone! Until I told Tyrion to hang up on anyone who dared to mention the fucking word. And it wasn’t just pirates. Traumatized war veterans. Mutant aliens. Comic book supervillains. I even had a call from the Janos Bond people, saying they wanted to remake _Goldfinger_ , only they would call it _Goldenhand_ and give me a gold prop hand to wear. When I refused, they called back ten minutes later and said, what if the hand was made of actual gold and they let me keep it? “It’ll be a talking point on the red carpet”, they said. Can you believe that?’

Brienne’s heart ached. ‘Jaime’ – she began, but he wasn’t listening.

‘You know, I was lying there in my hospital bed, and my dear father walked in, looked at my stump and said, “Well, that was rather careless of you, Jaime. My plan was always to sustain your career until you turned forty – I didn’t want you embarrassing the family name by becoming one of those ageing so-called sex symbols - but I suppose five years doesn’t make much difference. We’ve had a decent run. I shall expect to see you at the first board meeting of Lannister Productions after your discharge. I’ll courier the papers over this afternoon. Under the circumstances, I will accept a proxy signature”, and he walked out. What was I supposed to do after that? Hmm? It was either roll over and give him the satisfaction, spend the rest of my life playing pirates, or refuse to give in to any of it. It’s not _me_ that defines myself by _this_ , Brienne,’ he said bitterly, waving his sleeve at her. ‘It’s the rest of the world. My father. Idiot casting directors. Twats like Renly Baratheon. The fucking media. Do you know, some of the papers have even started referring to me as _“the former_ Kingslayer”? I can’t even live up to my own fake reputation anymore. I’m a has-been at something I didn’t even do.’

‘I thought you said you never wanted the fame,’ she challenged.

‘Since when has what _I_ wanted ever come into it? Besides, I didn’t expect to have it wrenched away from me quite like _this._ ’ He stopped and faced her. ‘You do know they never caught the thugs who did this to me? How do you think that makes me feel? Huh?’

Brienne gulped. ‘Angry, I should imagine,’ she said gently. ‘And frustrated, and helpless, and afraid.’ He looked at her sharply. Brienne could feel tears stinging the back of her eyes but she soldiered on. ‘But don’t you see that by letting it crush you, letting it turn you into _this’_ – she gestured up and down his dishevelled attire – ‘you’re just letting them _win?_ You need to live, Jaime. Live, act, take revenge on them by not allowing _anyone_ to define you by your disability. Not like _that_. It may be the only revenge you can ever have, but it’s the best kind.’

He huffed. ‘That’s easy to say, wench. Not so easy to achieve.’

She locked her eyes onto his, suddenly overwhelmed by a love every bit as powerful as the anger which she had felt a few minutes ago. She tried a little smile, which he did not return.

‘You remember how you told me that after your trial, the media cast you as the bad guy so you just decided to embrace that role?’ He merely blinked in response. ‘Well – embrace _this!’_ she went on fervently. ‘You’re right - your father, and those casting directors – they _are_ all idiots. They couldn’t see past you as a one-handed man – like that’s some kind of separate species. It’s appalling discrimination. But what _you_ do to _yourself_ is just as bad, Jaime! You try to pretend that you still have two hands. You hide it on camera, hide it on stage, like it’s something to be ashamed of. What kind of message do you think that sends? You’re not the only disabled actor on the planet, you know, and clearly it’s an area where our profession needs to improve in its inclusiveness. My dad always tried to do that, in his community theatre, but he knew that disabled kids who wanted to act were eventually going to hit up against a stone wall of discrimination, or be confined to working in specialist groups forever. There were – are – no disabled actors in the mainstream media. _Except you, Jaime._ Don’t you see that you’re _uniquely_ placed to – to provide a figurehead, an inspiration? To change things for the better? Wouldn’t that give you some sense of purpose, some satisfaction, to know that you’d taken a bad thing and used it as a force for good?’

He stared at her contemptuously. ‘And how exactly do you propose I do that?’

She jutted her chin. ‘Where does it say in the script of _Earnest_ that Jack Worthing has two hands?’

His eyebrows knitted high on his forehead. He gave a bitter laugh. ‘What??’

‘You heard me.’

‘Um – it’s _implied._ ’

‘Yes, it’s implied. It’s also implied that he’s white, but directors have been employing racially blind casting for decades now. _That_ was shocking to audiences when it first happened, but now everyone accepts it. It also says in the script that Jack has blue eyes. You don’t. And that he’s twenty-nine. You’re not. Are you saying Catelyn shouldn’t have cast you?’

Jaime rolled his eyes. ‘Oh come on, wench, I think you’re stretching a point. Those are unimportant details and the script can easily be changed to accommodate them. You know that.’

She shrugged defiantly. ‘So change it to accommodate something else. There’s no plot-related reason why the character should have two hands. And the acting profession is never going to see past its prejudices unless they’re challenged from within. Don’t you get it, Jaime? You don’t _have_ to play disabled characters, and you certainly don’t have to play able-bodied parts as though there’s nothing different about you. There’s a third way. Play a traditionally two-handed character _as_ a one-handed one. Openly. You like groundbreaking, avant garde theatre. So break some ground! _Play one-handed Jack._ It’s never been done. And don’t stop there. You can do it with virtually any role in the theatrical canon, if you choose to. Think about it! You could be one-handed Willy Loman! One-handed Lovborg. One-handed Hamlet!’

‘One-handed Romeo?’ he offered sardonically.

Her lips twitched. ‘Well, you’re a little old for Romeo. But in theory, yes, why not? And that’s not even getting into the whole Westerosi canon. One-handed Florian, one-handed Dunk.’

He stared at her for a long moment and then shook his head derisively. ‘I thought you didn’t want me to be arrogant or make myself the centre of attention. What you’re proposing sounds like exactly that.’

‘What I _want_ is for you to break out of this cycle of self-pity, stop throwing your weight around and making life miserable for everyone else,’ she said firmly. ‘You’re a star. Of course you’re going to be the centre of attention. Just – make it for the right reasons, for the first time in your life.’

His eyes widened. ‘I can’t believe you just said that to me. I – I thought you were on my side, wench.’

‘I _am!’_ she cried in frustration. ‘I _am,_ Jaime. More than you know.’ She paused, flustered and blushing, and composed herself with difficulty. ‘That’s why I _have_ to tell you, because everybody else either doesn’t care enough or is too scared to tell you the truth, and you _need_ to hear it! What are you going to do if you quit acting? Go and work for your father, like he always wanted? Fade into obscurity? Or are you just going to carry on like this, getting more and more bitter until your brother and everyone else gives up on you too?’ They stared each other down for a moment. Brienne took another breath. ‘What I’m suggesting to you doesn’t call for arrogance, Jaime. Far from it. It’s going to call for more humility than you’ve ever shown in your life. But people will think better of you for it, and you’ll feel better too, in the end, I promise you that. Unless’ –

‘Unless what?’

She drew herself a little higher and looked down her nose at him. ‘Unless you’re too much of a coward.’

His eyes riveted onto hers, blazing. _‘A coward??!’_

‘Yes,’ she said, unflinching. ‘Are you?’

He advanced a few inches, breathing heavily, his nose almost touching her face. ‘Maybe I am, Brienne,’ he snarled, deep and low. ‘Maybe I’ve been a coward in more ways than one here, recently. But you know what? I think it may have kept me from making a very serious _mistake_.’ He drew back and his expression hardened. ‘Now get out of my face! I don’t have to stand around here and be insulted. I’m going home.’ He turned on his heel, threw open the cafeteria door, stuck his head inside and yelled, ‘Jon! Get here!’ He whirled back to Brienne. ‘And tell Renly he can stick his precious apology up his arse!’

Jon Snow appeared in the doorway, looking harassed. ‘What’s up? Ygritte just bought me a donut.’

‘I don’t care if she bought you some fucking beluga caviar and a diamond ring,’ spat Jaime. ‘We’re leaving. Now.’

‘Right,’ intoned Jon gloomily. ‘Hang on, I’ll just go and tell her.’

‘No,’ said Jaime petulantly.

Jon rolled his eyes, as though this were a regular occurrence. Sighing, he turned in the doorway and called, ‘Ygs! Can you come over here, babe?’

Ygritte materialised beside him. ‘Whassup?’

‘Gotta go,’ said Jon, jerking his head in Jaime’s direction. ‘Sorry.’ He leaned forward and gave her a light peck on the lips. ‘I’ll call you later, all right? Promise.’

Ygritte returned his kiss, a little more lingeringly, and then turned to look curiously at Jaime and Brienne. ‘What’s goin’ on?’ she asked. ‘Aren’t you rehearsin’? They don’t need me, do they?’

Jaime pawed the ground with his foot, but didn’t answer.

‘Um, no, and no,’ said Brienne eventually.

‘Show’s off,’ Jaime grunted. ‘C’mon, Jon. I need a fucking drink. Where’s the car?’

‘Car park,’ replied Jon. ‘Sam’s letting me use his space.’ He turned once more to a stunned-looking Ygritte, shrugged, blew her a final kiss and then trotted quickly after Jaime, who had set off at a determined stride without once looking back at Brienne.

Brienne crumpled to the ground, collapsing slumped into a sitting position on the step beside Jaime’s discarded cups and cigarette butts, and closed her eyes. It was all too much. She felt as though she had been hit by a ten-tonne truck. After a few seconds she heard a sound beside her and opened her eyes again. Ygritte was brushing aside the butts and eventually sat down next to her.

‘So what happened?’

Brienne sighed deeply. ‘There was a blow-up at rehearsal,’ she recounted wearily. She was simply exhausted with all of this now. ‘Jaime and Renly started calling each other names. Renly walked out. Then Catelyn threw Jaime out, and admitted to us all that the theatre’s about to go bust.’ She turned her eyes to the spot where Jaime had disappeared around the corner, and then looked at Ygritte and said ruefully, ‘Sorry, I think you might be unemployed, as of now. Me too, very soon.’

Ygritte smiled kindly. ‘Ach, I wouldn’t worry about me. North-of-the-Wall will have me back any time. I’ve been working with them for years. _This_ kind of thing – this play, I mean – not really my cup o’tea, to tell you the truth. Just thought I’d try it. Do something different, y’know. Challenge meself a bit, like. It’s been good, but I’ll be glad to get back to me roots. Though,’ she added conspiratorially, ‘I have to say, being here has brought its unexpected perks, if you know what I mean.’ She winked.

Brienne frowned for a second before catching her meaning. ‘Oh – you mean Jon?’

Ygritte grinned and nodded. ‘I like him. Bit naive, like, but I don’t mind that. It’s kind of cute. And he does have, um, certain skills.’ She winked again and wiggled her tongue lewdly. Brienne blushed. ‘Guess he’ll be heading back to King’s Landing though, if it’s all gone tits-up,’ sighed Ygritte wistfully. ‘Too bad. Not just for me, I mean. He and Sam have been working on this computer game idea of Sam’s. It looks pretty cool. It would have been great if they could have done something with it.’ She paused and studied Brienne’s face keenly. ‘What about you and His Nibs?’

Brienne started, then slumped. ‘Oh, not you too.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Ygritte innocently.

Brienne bridled a little. ‘Look, I know that you and Margaery and Sansa all think it’s a great joke to push me at him, but everyone seems to have got the wrong idea and it’s caused no end of trouble,’ she complained. ‘That’s partly what started this whole mess in the first place.’

Ygritte looked horrified and laid a hand on her arm. ‘Brienne, I’m sorry. Really. We never meant any harm. We was just trying to get the two of you together because Marge felt sorry for Jaime and it seemed so obvious that you liked each other.’

Brienne’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What?!’

‘I’m sorry if we got it wrong,’ said Ygritte again, earnestly. ‘The last thing any of us ever wanted to do was embarrass you. I mean, I really thought you liked him too.’

‘No of course he – wait, _what_ did you say?’

Ygritte leaned back and grinned. ‘Ohhh, you don’t know, do yer?’

Brienne could hear her heart thudding in her ears. ‘Know what?’ she squeaked.

Ygritte nodded in the direction where Jaime had departed. ‘His Royal Lannisterness. Got the hots for you something rotten, he has.’

Brienne tried to swallow a few times but found her mouth completely dry. ‘Wh- what makes you say that?’ she managed to croak at last.

‘Oh, well, apart from the fact that he _never fucking shuts up about yer_ , there was the time last week when he and I were rehearsing the kissing scene in Act Three, and I swear to the gods he was watching you over my shoulder the entire time. You had yer head in the script, didn’t even notice. He looked gutted.’

Brienne managed to find her breath. ‘That doesn’t mean anything, Ygritte. I think you’re imagining things. He just likes me as a friend. Or he did, until today.’

Ygritte shrugged. ‘If you say so. I just tell it like I see it.’ She grinned again and bumped her shoulder against Brienne’s. ‘So, _don’t_ you like him?’

Brienne sighed and laid her head against the cold stone of the building. ‘It wouldn’t make much difference if I did, would it? You said it yourself, the whole thing’s gone tits-up, they’ll be going back to King’s Landing, and anyway Jaime hates me now.’

‘Why?’

‘I may have called him a coward. Amongst other things. I thought he needed a few home truths. It, um, backfired a bit.’

‘Well, you tried,’ said Ygritte briskly. ‘That’s all you can do, eh?’ She stood. ‘Now come on, there’s an abandoned donut in ‘ere with your name on it. I promise not to say another word about either acting or boys,’ she added encouragingly when Brienne hesitated.

‘Thanks, but I’d better go and see if Catelyn’s okay.’ She rose to her feet and dusted off her trousers.

‘Well, if you’re sure. Sam’s most likely eaten it by now anyway, come to think of it.’ She stepped forward and gave Brienne a rapid hug. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll survive. I see that about you. You’re a survivor.’

Brienne smiled wanly. ‘Yes, I am. Maybe this is – I don’t know, a sign or something. Maybe it’s time for me to go back to Tarth. I do miss it, and I know my dad would love it if I went home.’

‘Well, something’ll turn up,’ said Ygritte brightly. ‘You never know what’s around the corner. And... other platitudes.’ She grinned again. ‘I’m just – gonna go in now.’

Brienne smiled. ‘Thanks, Ygritte. And if I don’t see you again – good luck with everything.’

‘Oh, don’t be such a gloomy-knickers! If you think I’m leaving this place without a _serious_ party, you’re very much mistaken!’ exclaimed Ygritte, and with a final wink, she vanished back into the cafeteria.

The theatre building was hushed when Brienne returned. In the rehearsal room, she found Sandor stacking chairs with grim determination.

‘Where’s Catelyn?’ she asked.

‘Buggered off home,’ he answered without turning. ‘They all have. Rehearsals cancelled until further notice.’

She swallowed. So it was really true. ‘Was Catelyn okay?’

He glanced over his shoulder. ‘How in the hells should I know? I can’t deal with fucking emotional females.’ He looked her up and down as though to assess whether she belonged to the same category, then asked knowingly, ‘So, did you find ‘im?’

‘Which one?’ asked Brienne wearily.

‘Whichever one you want to tell me about, lass.’

‘I found them both,’ she sighed. ‘And I don’t want to talk about either of them. It’s a disaster. I shouldn’t be allowed near men. There should be a health warning tattooed across my forehead. “Danger – may cause gross misunderstanding and general all-round chaos.”’

Sandor chuckled. ‘Go on, lass, get yourself home and drink some fucking vodka until the pain goes away,’ he said. ‘I can clear up in here. I’ll see ya Monday.’

‘If there’s even any point in coming in on Monday,’ she said despondently.

‘You’re starting to sound like me,’ said Sandor shrewdly. ‘Trust me, you don’t wanna sound like me. Now fuck off before I shove ya.’

‘Thanks, Sandor,’ she smiled. ‘I don’t know why everyone’s being so nice to me. This is all my fault.’

‘Shit, was I nice? Must be slipping,’ he murmured.

Brienne took one last melancholy look around the room and what remained of the set – her markings on the floor, mostly – and, with a sad smile, she closed the door.

*********************************************

Thus began the longest weekend of Brienne’s life.

She was constantly torn between the desperate desire to _do_ something to fix the situation, and the crushing knowledge that she had tried and failed. Three times she picked up the phone to call Catelyn, only to put it down again in despair. Either Catelyn was still angry with her – or possibly even angrier than before – in which case, she wouldn’t want to hear from her, or else she was simply sad and desperate, in which case Brienne could offer scant comfort. It would be better, she concluded, to leave Catelyn alone with her family for a few days to let the dust settle and decide what she was going to do next.

She wished she could call Margaery, to find out what had happened after she left the rehearsal, but with a curse, she remembered the list of cast mobile phone numbers glued in the front of her binder at work. It had seemed presumptuous to her, at the time, to enter them into her personal contacts on her phone. _Yet another stupid, unprofessional decision_.

The binder, she realised, had disappeared from the room by the time she found Sandor there. She could only assume that Stannis had picked it up. She didn’t have Stannis’s number either, and the only way to get it would be to phone Catelyn or Renly. And there was certainly no way she was phoning Renly to recount her failure with Jaime. She was slightly more afraid that he would sympathise than sneer.

 _Get it sorted by Monday afternoon’s rehearsal_ , Renly had said. Theoretically, that meant she still had time to put things right, but she was at a loss as to what else she could reasonably do.

Of course, she longed to speak to Jaime. She hadn’t known it was possible to long for something so much. It was like a physical ache. The memory of the cruel look in his eyes as he dismissed her and turned away haunted her, waking and sleeping – not that she slept much – and made her want to scream and rage, or sob and bleed – she wasn’t sure which. If she allowed her mind to dwell on it for too long, then the events of the past few days started to swirl in her mind, forming crazy echoes.

 _‘It’s perfectly apparent to me that you are attracted to the man._..’

_‘You have a worthy champion there, Brienne.’_

_‘FUCK, BRIENNE, LOOK OUT!!’_

_‘Winterfell is finished’._

_‘Blame your boyfriend for that.’_

_‘Got the hots for you something rotten, he has.’_

_‘I thought you were on my side, wench.’_

_‘Get out of my face!’_

It was unbearable. Was this really what being in love was supposed to feel like? She didn’t even understand how she could continue to love someone whose very existence felt like a stab to the gut now. It crippled her, made her want to curl up and clutch herself like the most agonising cramps.

Finally, on Saturday evening, she picked up the phone and dialled a familiar number.

‘Hello?’ said the kind voice at the other end.

‘Hi, Dad,’ she replied – and promptly burst into tears.

Selwyn listened with patient concern as, sniffling, Brienne told him everything , starting with Jaime’s casting on the show and the reasons behind it, then their work together – being careful not to leave out the part about Jaime being Selwyn’s greatest fan – and finishing with the past three days and the awful events of the previous day in particular. When she finished, there was a long, considered pause. She waited, knowing this was her father’s way of making sure he didn’t say the wrong thing.

‘So, Brie love, just so I’ve got my facts straight here – this is _the_ Jaime Lannister we’re talking about? The man who killed Aerys Targaryen? You know how I feel about that.’

She sighed. ‘Yes. But that wasn’t like you think it was. Honestly. The press distorted the story. He told me all about it. Really, it’s okay.’

Selwyn made a dubious noise. ‘Well, you know I always trust your judgement, Brie, but’ –

‘Trust it this time, Dad. I promise you. That’s not the problem here.’

‘So, you’re upset about your job? Look, I know you love it, and that’s great, but you know there’s always a place here for you, don’t you? Whenever you need, whenever you want. Okay?’

She felt the tears welling again. ‘Yeah, I know, Dad. Thanks.’

‘So what’s really eating you?’

‘I screwed up. It’s _my fault_. I let myself get emotionally involved and it compromised me professionally. A good stage manager shouldn’t do that.’

‘You’re being far too hard on yourself, love. Stage managers are only human, after all, and in any case it doesn’t sound to me like it was your fault. Those two boys want their heads banging together, if you ask me. They’d never have got away with that sort of behaviour in _my_ theatre!’ He chuckled and she managed a watery laugh down the phone. There was a moment’s pause before Selwyn said tentatively, ‘You said, “emotionally involved”? Is this about that Renly chappie again? Is that why you’re so upset?’

‘Gods, Dad, haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve been saying? It’s not – I’m not – it’s not _Renly_ , okay? It’s – it’s Jaime. Jaime Lannister.’ She could barely manage to whisper his name. She clenched her eyes shut and rubbed her forehead exhaustedly.

‘Oh,’ said Selwyn in a different tone.

‘And before you say a _word_ , yes I know all the reasons why that’s a bad idea,’ she interjected. ‘I just – I can’t help it, Dad. And I don’t know what to do.’

There was a pause. ‘I wish your mother was around,’ sighed Selwyn eventually. ‘Dads aren’t usually much help in these matters, I’m afraid. Gods know, I tried. I tried to set you up with boys when you were younger – hated the thought of you being alone – but you were always so particular, Brienne.’

She found herself laughing in spite of herself. ‘Dad, the dates you set me up on were _awful_. You do know that, right?’

‘Well, how is a chap supposed to know what his daughter might like in a boyfriend?’ he countered in amiable mock protest. ‘I did my best. What I’m saying is, though, love – you’ve always known your own mind in these matters. And I expect you were right about those boys.’

‘I was.’

‘So. I expect you’re right about this one.’

She blinked in surprise. ‘What?’

‘Brienne, if you see qualities in this man which make you believe in him – care about him – then I’m sure you’re right. If you are, then he’ll come through. He’s an Evenfall fan, so he can’t be all bad, eh?’ he joked, then added more seriously, ‘And if you’re wrong, then he wasn’t worth your time. That’s all I know. Either way, you’ll be all right. You’re a survivor, Brie.’

She smiled. ‘You’re the second person to tell me that in twenty-four hours.’

‘Who was the first?’

‘A friend. A female friend.’

‘That’s good, that’s good,’ said Selwyn enthusiastically. ‘I’m glad you’ve got friends there. I do worry about you, you know, being so far away. I don’t want you to be lonely.’

‘I thought you just said I was a survivor.’

‘They’re not mutually exclusive, Brienne,’ said her father sadly. ‘I survived after we lost your mother and brother. Never meant I wasn’t lonely.’

She bit back another rush of tears. ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’

‘Not _too_ lonely, though,’ he corrected rapidly, as though anxious to dispel her guilt. ‘I always had you. I mean, I’ve got you. I know you’re a long way away, but so long as you’re happy, I’m happy.’

‘But I don’t know if I can _be_ happy here anymore,’ she whispered.

‘Brienne, life is dark as well as light. They need each other, for balance. Sometimes we have to stop trying to control it. Go with the flow, you know? Things have a way of working out. That’s the best advice I can give you.’

She groaned softly. ‘Oh Dad, please don’t tell me you’ve found R’hllor or something.’

He laughed. ‘No, no, nothing as fancy as that. Old-age wisdom, that’s all. Just take care of yourself. I know you can and you always do. I trust you.’

 _I trust you._ Jaime’s words, spoken what felt like an age ago. Maybe she just needed to trust herself a little more.

‘Thanks, Dad,’ she said. ‘It was good talking to you. It helped.’

‘That’s my job,’ he quipped. ‘Call me any time you need, okay?’

‘I will. Thanks. I love you.’

‘I love you too, Brie. Take care, love. I’ll speak to you soon.’

‘Yeah, okay. Bye, Dad.’

‘Bye, love. Bye.’

************************************

A punishing hill walk in driving rain and sleet on Sunday helped to clear her head a little. It didn’t take away the pain but it felt cleansing and invigorating nonetheless. Even so, as the hours ticked slowly by through the evening and into the night, Brienne found herself channel hopping, both wishing for and dreading a chance sighting of Jaime’s face in some forgotten movie airing on an obscure channel somewhere.

But this time it wasn’t to be. Finally, at around midnight – much later than her usual bedtime – she fell into bed, not daring to think about what the next day might hold.

She awoke at six, her stomach a fluttering, nauseous mass of nerves, and briefly considered calling in sick, before realising that if everyone was out of a job, it was probably superfluous. All she really had to do was go into the theatre, collect her things and get out again, although she supposed that some kind of official conversation with Catelyn was going to be necessary.

She could only hope that Catelyn would agree to couch it in terms of a redundancy, rather than a firing. Arts organisations went bust all the time, she knew that, so any future employer wouldn’t think any the worse of her for being dismissed from a job due to funding issues. A dismissal or even a demotion on the grounds of misconduct would be another matter. She hoped that she could persuade Catelyn to strike that from her record. Under the general circumstances, it didn’t seem to matter that much anymore.

It was with a pounding heart, even so, that Brienne climbed the stairs into the office corridor a little later. It was barely eight o’clock, which meant that nobody else would be around yet. Perhaps this way she could retain a little dignity by having her stuff packed and ready to leave, and be waiting outside Catelyn’s office for her official dismissal when her boss arrived. Better that than have to be sought out for the purposes of humiliation in front of anyone else.

She was approaching the door of the small rehearsal room when she heard quiet voices coming from within. A male one spoke for a long time, low and earnest, and then she heard a female one, first making assenting noises, and then, as Brienne drew nearer, the female voice let out a peal of laughter.

_Catelyn’s laugh._

The male voice joined in warmly.

Brienne froze in her tracks, open-mouthed. _Jaime._ She would know that laugh anywhere.

The voices struck up again. ‘Oh, absolutely!’ she heard Catelyn exclaim merrily.

Pulse beating frantically, Brienne approached the door, feeling almost as though she were having an out of body experience and could look down on herself as she did so. She saw her hand reach for the handle and slowly push the door open.

Seated at one of the desks in the early morning light, a red head and a golden head were bent together in concentration over a copy of the script. Both looked up abruptly at Brienne’s entrance.

Brienne reeled back against the doorframe and gasped an astonished ‘Oh!’

For there, beside a beatific and slightly dazed-looking Catelyn, sat Jaime Lannister in all his blinding, breathtaking beauty. He was clean-shaven, revealing such an exquisite jigsaw of cheekbones and jawline and lips and dimples that Brienne scarcely knew where to look. His hair was cut shorter into a style befitting the Oscar Wilde period. Gone were the sweatpants and the dirty sneakers. Instead, he wore a pair of tight, dark jeans and expensive-looking black leather shoes which gleamed in the sunlight.

But best of all, in place of the ubiquitous faded red hoodie, there was a dark grey cashmere sweater with a white t-shirt underneath. The soft wool clung across his sculpted chest and powerful shoulders – but that wasn’t what Brienne was looking at. She was looking at the sleeves. They were both pushed up a little way, revealing his muscular, golden forearms – and there, resting on the desk in plain sight, the stump of his right wrist.

She put out a hand to steady herself against the wall. _‘Jaime??’_ she breathed incredulously.

_If you’re right, then he’ll come through._

With a grin that threatened to block out the sun, Jaime leapt to his feet. ‘Brienne!’ he cried, with what sounded like relief. She could do nothing but gawp at him, her jaw on the floor, as it felt. It was like a miracle. Jaime’s smile faltered just a touch and he bit his lip. ‘So I um – well, as you can see, I, um, took our little chat to heart,’ he said hesitantly. ‘After a bottle of whisky, which I regret, and giving myself a good talking to – which I don’t.’

Saucer-eyed, Brienne nodded. Out of the periphery of her vision, she was aware of Catelyn looking from Jaime to her with some surprise, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him.

There was a pause. She couldn’t manage to form words. Jaime shifted slightly from foot to foot and finally spread his arms wide, stump and all.

‘Well, come on, wench,’ he said with a gorgeous, cheeky grin. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense. How do I look?’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. It is a terrible thing for a man to find out suddenly that all his life he has been speaking nothing but the truth. Can you forgive me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaime and Brienne are both awkward, adorable, clueless idiots. 
> 
> We pick up exactly where we left off at the end of Chapter 10.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it's been a while. I'm sorry. There has been... Stuff. Thank you all for your patience and for not harrassing me for new chapters (although I confess I may have been hiding a little bit and not commenting on other people's fics so that wouldn't happen. Sorry.) 
> 
> Anyway, after a ridiculously long hiatus comes a ridiculously long chapter - seriously, it's out of control - featuring some cameo appearances and a huge amount of JB. So I hope you like it.
> 
> This chapter comes to you courtesy of No Sleep and Outrageously Last Minute Packing. Vacation tomorrow!

**_It is a terrible thing for a man to find out suddenly that all his life he has been speaking nothing but the truth. Can you forgive me?_ **

 

‘How do I look?’

 _‘Half a god’ doesn’t even come close anymore_ , mused Brienne as she took advantage of the opportunity Jaime had offered to let her eyes slide over his body and drink him in, though she was unable to prevent herself from blushing as she did so.

He was truly a vision. She had to admit she slightly mourned the loss of the golden mane, but his new haircut accentuated his features and it was definitely in period for the show, which must mean he was serious about returning. It was the sight of his right arm, though, which moved her the most. Far from detracting from his beauty, the sight of him exposed in that way, free from the cocoon beneath which he had been concealing himself, made her heart swell with love for him. She raised her eyes to meet his and saw pride there, mixed with a raw vulnerability. He was desperate, she realised, for her approval.

She swallowed hard. There were no adequate words with which to answer him, at least not without revealing her feelings. Humour would have to do. The abrasive bantering between them, which she had found so hurtful at first, but which now felt like life blood to her. Jaime would understand if she answered him in that way.

‘Less like half a corpse than you did on Friday,’ she offered drily at last.

Jaime’s grin widened improbably, as though this were the best answer he had ever heard, and Brienne found herself smiling back like an idiot. She was unsure how long they had simply stood there smiling at each other when Catelyn cleared her throat loudly, and she was catapulted back into a world where there was more than just Jaime’s smile and Jaime’s eyes gazing at her with warm affection.

‘Brienne,’ said Catelyn with a brisk smile but an undertone of indulgence. ‘It’s good to see you. Might I have a few moments of your time? The, um, - well, as you’ve no doubt deduced, the show is back on. Mr, um, I mean _Jaime’_ – she corrected with a nod of almost coy deference in response to his raised eyebrow – ‘has suggested one or two, um, improvements which we might make. I’d like to discuss it with you, please, if I may. In private. Jaime, why don’t you take a break? We’ve been at this for an hour and I think we’ve made great progress. You must be dying for a cigarette.’

 _An hour?_ thought Brienne incredulously. _He’s been in here since_ seven?

Jaime shuffled a little in that adorably sheepish way again, and said, ‘Actually I’m, um – trying to quit.’ To her surprise, he pushed up his right sleeve above the elbow, revealing a white square stuck to a perfect golden bicep. ‘See?’ he said. ‘Nicotine patch.’

‘Gosh,’ murmured Catelyn. ‘You don’t do things by halves, do you?’

He winked. ‘Not if I can help it. Besides, smoke breaks were rather chilly.’ He hesitated for a fraction of a second and then, turning on a smile which would have charmed fish onto land, he added, ‘I, um – would you mind if I borrowed Brienne for a few moments first though? There’s a little, um, unfinished business which I need to discuss with her rather urgently, if that’s okay.’ He shot her a loaded glance which made her blush in confusion.

Catelyn wavered, her eyes flicking between their faces for a moment or two, then finally relented with what looked like a hint of amusement. ‘Of course. Make it quick though.’

Jaime’s smile cranked up another megawatt, and he gave a quirky little salute before turning to the door and ushering Brienne out of it with a meaningful look, closing it quickly behind them.

‘Jaime, you’re’ – she began breathlessly, at the exact same moment as he gripped her forearm with an electric jolt and started to say fervently, ‘Brienne, I’m so, _so’_ –

They both broke off and laughed shyly. ‘Sorry,’ he said graciously, withdrawing his hand. ‘You first.’

She blushed. ‘No. You.’

‘No. Please. You.’

She gulped and bit her lip. He was close enough that she could smell his cologne or some other masculine grooming product which he had on. It was new, but somehow so _Jaime_ that her head swam a little. ‘So... you’re coming back?’ she asked, feeling rather stupid.

He grinned. ‘Well, obviously, wench.’

‘I – I mean...’ she tailed off, looking at his arm.

‘Yes,’ he said softly with a smile. ‘I’m going to do it. Just like you said. I’m going to wear a wooden prosthetic for the show – that’s what’s correct for the period, I researched it – but it’s going to be very obvious, and I’ve rewritten chunks of the blocking and physical stuff in order to incorporate it. It’ll all be in good taste, don’t worry. Catelyn’s on board. Renly too, albeit grudgingly. I’ve had to ditch most of the blocking that you and I worked out – I hope you don’t mind?’

She shook her head. ‘No, no! I – I mean, if you’re really comfortable doing that. It’s a big step, Jaime. Nobody would blame you for taking things more slowly, you know.’

‘Bollocks to that,’ he stated firmly. ‘I’ve spent three years hiding. The time for baby steps is past. Brienne, look’ – he gripped her forearm again – ‘like I said, after we talked on Friday I was so livid that I went and got blind drunk. But on Saturday, once I’d sobered up and finally resurfaced from the world’s worst hangover, I realised you were right. About everything. Every. Fucking. Thing. I knew it at the time, obviously, which is why I went off the deep end. And I am so, so, _so_ sorry, Brienne. I was an utter ass to you and you absolutely did not deserve that _at all_ , and there’s no excuse for the way I behaved – I mean on Friday morning too, when you were just trying to do your job, for fuck’s sake – but if there’s any way at all you could ever find it in your heart to forgive me, I’d’ –

‘Jaime, please stop!’ she cried in agitation. ‘I’m the one who should be apologising to _you!_ I said some really harsh things to you in the heat of the moment, and I’m sorry.’

‘Things I _needed_ to hear!’ he breathed. ‘Come on, you _know_ that! Nobody else would have had the guts to say them, and – fuck, it’s not often I struggle for words, but... you _saved_ me, Brienne! That’s no bloody exaggeration. You didn’t have to do it, but you did. And I don’t have the words to thank you for that, or to make it up to you for acting like an asshole, but I just wanted you to know.’

Her heart was pounding. ‘I do wish you’d stop,’ she murmured, embarrassed. ‘I was just doing my job. Gods, Jaime, the theatre was about to go bust! I did it for Catelyn’s sake.’ He raised an eyebrow with a smug look which she couldn’t resist. ‘ _Okay_ , and for yours,’ she conceded with a smile, rolling her eyes. ‘ _Somebody_ had to try to talk some sense into your idiotic movie star head.’

He bit his lip and relaxed his grip on her arm, although he didn’t lift his hand.

‘So, um, would you consider having dinner with an idiotic movie star?’

Brienne felt her eyes go wide, her heart do a strange flip and possibly stop beating for several seconds. ‘What?!’ she squeaked.

Instantly, Jaime removed his hand and withdrew almost two feet, his face a picture of horrified dismay. ‘I – I – I mean – as a thank you. A-and an apology. But mostly a thank you. You know. For – for – for everything.’

_Of course._

She swallowed hard. ‘Jaime, you – you don’t need to do that. Just... seeing you back here, like _this_ – and knowing that I helped, and that the show is going ahead and that the theatre is going to be saved – that’s all the thanks I need. Really.’

He bit his lip again and leaned slightly closer once more. ‘Please, Brienne?’ he asked softly. ‘It would... mean a lot to me. This is the start of a new chapter for me – at least I’d like it to be – and it’s thanks to you. Share this moment with me? There’s no-one else whom I’d rather share it with.’

It was like a knife slicing through her. On the one hand, he genuinely seemed to want to show his gratitude, but then he just had to throw in that she was simply the default option because he had no other friends in Winterfell.

Even so, he was looking at her so pleadingly that she knew she would be powerless to refuse. _He’s lonely_ , she realised, wondering for the first time why he didn’t seem to have a woman in his life. Maybe Catelyn was right after all and he did just engage in casual affairs. She couldn’t believe that he didn’t have the opportunity, but that kind of life would leave a person feeling lonely, she imagined, especially after a number of years. Still, clearly she wasn’t on his seduction list, but he seemed to think of her as a friend, which she told herself was infinitely better, despite the pang of jealousy and pain which ripped through her at the thought.

‘Of course I’ll have dinner with you, Jaime,’ she said finally.      

She considered placing her hand on his arm in a reciprocal gesture, but unlike hers, his forearm was bare, and the thought of touching his beautiful skin, with its muscles and its golden hairs, was too terrifying. It had been bad enough when she was measuring him, but at least on that occasion she had a professional reason for doing so. Now, in this oddly charged moment, it was too much. She settled for a smile, which he returned with a sigh of relief.

‘Great,’ he breathed. ‘Thank you. There is a slight problem, though.’

She looked at him anxiously. ‘What?’

‘The thing is, I don’t know any restaurants up here, and – well - now that I look like _me_ again, I can’t just go wandering into any old place. It can be bit tricky. Would you mind coming to my hotel? And I don’t mean that the way it sounds, wench, I swear.’

_Of course you don't._

‘I just mean, we can eat there,’ he was continuing, floundering slightly. ‘The food’s pretty good, and the manager will get us a nice quiet table, and – shit, I’m just digging myself in deeper here, aren’t I?’

Brienne managed a smile. ‘It’s fine, Jaime.’

‘Just come at seven tonight, okay?’ he pleaded.

‘Tonight?!’ she blanched. _Gods, I need more time_.

He gave a funny little shrug. ‘No time like the present.’

She was just trying to decide whether and how to try and put him off so that she could figure out how to handle this, and/or decide what to wear _(Oh gods, Winterfell Towers is a posh hotel; I’ve got nothing even remotely suitable),_ when she heard Catelyn call her name from inside the room.

‘I’ve got to go in,’ she muttered. ‘We’ve been out here ages.’

‘I think she can spare us five minutes, wench,’ said Jaime with amusement. ‘So?’

The sparkle in his eyes and the laughter lines around his mouth, newly visible now that his beard was gone, were too enticing, and she heard herself mutter, ‘Okay, fine, seven o’clock.’

She was rewarded with another blinding Lannister grin. ‘Great,’ he said again. ‘Now report for duty. I think you’ll find she’s about to offer you your job back.’

‘Oh Jaime, you didn’t ask her to, did you? I told you before’ –

‘Relax, wench,’ he said expansively, raising his stump to her shoulder. ‘I haven’t said a word. But let’s just say I’m not the only person around here who’s been shown the error of their ways.’ He winked. ‘I’ll see you shortly. I’m going to see if there’s anywhere open yet where I can get a coffee.’

‘Not given up caffeine, then?’ she couldn’t resist teasing.

He tilted his head and pulled a face. ‘Give me a break, wench. There _are_ limits. I haven’t had a total fucking personality transplant, you know.’

‘Good.’ It was out of her mouth before she could stop it, a smile tugging at her cheek muscles so hard that they almost ached.

He froze and gave her a quizzical look, eyes wide with a half-smile, trying to discern her meaning. Then he grinned, lightning-quick, before turning and bounding down the stairs with a renewed vigour which almost belied his words, and held her mesmerised. Though the rear view of him in the tight jeans and fitted sweater definitely had something to do with that as well.

Catelyn was on her feet when Brienne re-entered, shuffling through her script pages, which Brienne could now see were covered in tracts of notes in an awkward scrawl.

 _He wrote it out himself?_ she thought. As far as she knew, Jaime was scarcely able to write with his left hand. _It must have taken him hours._

Catelyn assessed Brienne’s flushed face with a shrewd look and motioned for her to sit. ‘Well?’ she said, sitting down again herself. ‘I assume he told you his plan. Frankly, I thought he was joking at first when he phoned me yesterday. Then he turned up, looking like _that_ , apologised grovellingly for his prior unprofessional behaviour and for any offence he may have caused to myself or any other member of the cast or crew, and produced this vast, annotated script that he wanted me to work through with him. Apparently he wants this to be a “groundbreaking production”, as he put it. He’s also getting his team to re-design all the publicity, _and_ he’s insisting on a VIP press gala for opening night – which he’s paying for.’ She looked up with a still slightly stunned expression. ‘Am I now to understand that _you_ had something to do with this... epiphany?’

Brienne held her head high. ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I think I did. Actually I – I know I did.’

‘What on earth did you _say_ to him?’

‘I just – um – I told him he should use his position to act as an inspiration for other disabled actors instead of railing against the world, that’s all. And, you know, the thing about how we were all going to be out of a job if he didn’t,’ she added with a slight smile.

‘Well,’ Catelyn exhaled, ‘it rather seems that you’ve saved our bacon, Brienne. Of course, it goes without saying that you are reinstated as Stage Manager with immediate effect. I’m – well – Stannis accused me last week of over-reacting and of being rather hasty in my judgement of you, and I see now that he was right and I was wrong, and I’m sorry. Will you accept my apology?’

Brienne’s blush deepened. ‘Of course.’                                                                                                                               

‘No hard feelings?’ pushed the older woman.

‘No, of course not. Only’- she broke off shyly.

‘What is it, Brienne?’

‘Well, um’ – she was scarlet and crawling with embarrassment, but this needed to be said, for Jaime’s sake. She couldn’t bear the idea of people thinking badly of him, especially after he had proved himself so courageously. ‘What you said – last week – about me and Jaime. It’s not’ -

‘Frankly, Brienne,’ interrupted Catelyn drily, ‘if it gets Jaime Lannister onto my stage and the eyes of Westeros’ media on my theatre, I’m honestly past caring. Just so long as you keep it out of the workplace and both do your jobs professionally, which I now have no reason to suspect that you won’t, then what you do is your own business. In any case, I’m hardly in a position to lecture anyone on professionalism when I’m as good as taking bribes to save my theatre, now am I?’ she added ruefully with a swift knowing glance. ‘Just... be careful, that’s all I ask.’

Brienne blushed again and almost made another protest, but something made the words die on her tongue. There had been something in the way Jaime had been looking at her – eager and... hopeful, maybe? And he had asked her to dinner, to thank her and apologise to her. Ygritte’s words circled in her mind. Not that she gave her theories any credence, obviously - but for whatever reason, even if not a romantic one, Jaime clearly cared enough about her opinion of him not only to decide to turn his life around because _she_ had told him to, but also to seek her approval of his actions.

Her train of thought reminded her abruptly of the other chief protagonist in the drama. ‘What about Renly? Jaime said that he’s back on board too?’

‘Oh yes, I almost forgot! It seems Jaime called and apologised to him too, and Renly actually apologised back - apparently because he promised _you_ that’s what he would do! I won’t deny there were a few choice words muttered down the phone when I told him that we’d be re-blocking some of the scenes _again_ and that it was Jaime’s idea,’ she admitted, ‘but Renly’s not stupid. He knows this’ll be good for his career too, if all goes well. It’s a risk, still, of course – but theatre always is. We all know that. Either way, Renly’s made a commitment and he says he’ll stand by it. So it seems that I owe you a double debt. Really, Brienne, I hardly know how to thank you. I feel terrible, especially after my behaviour last week. I’ve been under a lot of stress, but that’s no excuse. I really shouldn’t have’ –

‘Catelyn, please don’t keep apologising!’ she cried in agonised embarrassment. ‘It – it was nothing, really. I just... did what needed to be done, that’s all. And we should all have been more – well, more sensitive towards you. I’m just glad that everything’s sorted out now.’ She cleared her throat. ‘What about Sansa?’

Catelyn glanced up sharply again. ‘I’m going to talk to her about it today – that’s if Margaery hasn’t spilled the beans already. It’s time she knew.’ There was an awkward pause before Catelyn continued, ‘By the way, we’ll be meeting the briber himself later this week. It seems Tyrion Lannister is coming up to Winterfell, to manage his brother’s press campaign and help plan the opening night gala.’ She shook her head and laughed. ‘Gods, I can hardly believe I’m talking in these kinds of terms. This has suddenly turned into the biggest show I’ve ever produced!’

‘I’m really happy for you, Catelyn.’

‘By the Seven, Brienne, be happy for all of us! If this pays off, it will really put Winterfell on the map.’ She paused and sighed. ‘I just wish that Ned could have been here to see it. It... doesn’t feel the same without him. I don’t know.’ She shook herself slightly as Brienne blushed, searching vainly as usual for adequate words of comfort. ‘Now,’ Catelyn went on, ‘you should definitely take a look at this script too, so why don’t you sit in on the meeting with me and Jaime? He’ll value your input, I’m sure.’

‘Oh – no – I mean, it’s between you and him’ – Brienne began.

‘Nonsense,’ said Catelyn briskly. ‘You’re the Stage Manager, and seeing as we wouldn’t even have a show if it weren’t for you, then rest assured I want you in the loop on every decision from here on. No arguments!’ she added with a smile as Brienne opened her mouth to protest. ‘Oh – which reminds me, Stannis asked me to give you this.’ She reached into her bag beneath the desk and produced Brienne’s missing binder. ‘This is really thorough work, Brienne. The show is safe in your hands, I know that now. So, have a look through this’ – she put Jaime’s script on top of the binder and handed the whole lot over – ‘until Jaime gets back. Then at nine o’clock you’d better phone the rest of the cast, fill them in, and get everyone in for a rehearsal at one, if we can manage that. There’s lots of work to be done!’

***********************************

‘Well, well, well!’ announced Olenna, giving Jaime an appraising once-over as she walked into the rehearsal room later. ‘So there _was_ a face underneath all that silly fuzz. You scrub up rather well, dear, if I may say so. Jolly good. It’ll be nice to have a little bit of eye candy around during rehearsals. No offence, Renly dear.’

 _‘Grandmother!’_ admonished Margaery lightly.

‘What? It would be strange if I were to describe my own grandson’s boyfriend as “eye candy”, now wouldn’t it? Besides, Renly already knows I adore him.’

‘Course I do, Olenna,’ said Renly good-naturedly with a roll of his eyes.

‘Whereas our young Mr Lannister here will no doubt be in need of a little bit of – what do they call it these days? – positive reinforcement.’ She looked him up and down again and then added with a wicked glint, ‘Yes, it’s a definite improvement. Although I’m slightly worried that you may lose circulation in your legs, dear. Didn’t they have any trousers in your size?’

Jaime was actually blushing a little. ‘I’m fine, Olenna. Thanks for your concern, though,’ he said in his most charming voice.

‘And am I to understand that you’ve abandoned all of that ridiculous nonsense about your arm and decided to _act_ instead, in the way that you’re capable of?’ Olenna persisted sternly.

There was a brief, shocked silence. Brienne looked anxiously at Jaime. She saw him breathe in.

‘Yes, I have,’ he replied steadily, with the swiftest of glances at Brienne. Renly followed his gaze and she saw a faint smile flit across his lips. Jaime looked around the room, cleared his throat and continued in a louder voice, ‘I – I’d like to apologise to everyone for how I’ve behaved.’ He ran his fingers through his newly short hair and then spread his arms a little awkwardly. ‘This is... the new me. Hopefully. And I’d really like us all to have a show here. A _great_ show.’

There was a brief pause, then Ygritte called ‘Hear, hear!’, and a tiny ripple of murmurs and applause broke out. Jaime looked deeply embarrassed, but behind it his pride and happiness were plain to see. He had the appearance of a man who had had the entire weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. Margaery moved towards him and reached up to give him a brief hug around the shoulders. Brienne could see him steeling himself not to flinch when she almost came into contact with his maimed wrist, but he managed to hold it together. Her heart swelled with pride and admiration.

‘It _will_ be a great show, Jaime,’ said Margaery warmly. ‘Right, Renly?’

The room fell silent as, slowly, Renly approached, hesitated for a second, and finally extended his left hand.

Jaime stared at it, then up into Renly’s face, chewed his lip for a moment, and finally a crooked smile spread across his face and he grasped Renly’s hand. ‘Just do it like that on the night, Baratheon, and we’ll be fine.’

Renly chuckled. ‘Right back at ya, Lannister.’

‘Well, that’s that settled, then,’ said Olenna decisively, clapping her hands twice. ‘Now, can we please do some work? Oh – and Brienne is back too! How marvellous! Sorry dear, I didn’t notice you there. This silly man is rather distracting, isn’t he?’ she added with a wink towards a somewhat alarmed-looking Jaime.

Brienne blushed and cleared her throat. ‘All right, everyone, places for Act Three please,’ she called. ‘Catelyn will be along in just a few moments, but she said we can get started. And, um, there are a few, um, changes’ – she hesitated and glanced anxiously at Jaime, who was nodding enthusiastically – ‘which I’m sorry about, but hopefully it won’t be too hard to incorporate them if we all concentrate and work hard.’

‘Still attention-seeking, eh Lannister?’ said Renly, only half seriously.

‘Hear me roar. Just can’t help myself. You know how it is,’ Jaime shot back, in the same dry tone.

To Brienne’s relief, Renly guffawed with laughter. ‘Man, we are going to Oscar Wilde the _shit_ out of those fuckers!’

Jaime grinned. ‘That’s the plan.’

Renly nodded. ‘Let’s do it.’

********************************

Five hours later, Brienne sighed as she stood despondently in front of her bedroom mirror. It was never exactly her favourite item of furniture, but tonight it seemed to be harbouring a new and unprecedented level of vindictiveness.

She had already tried on the navy blue trouser suit which she wore for interviews, a shapeless (and woefully too short) black shift dress which she had bought for her uncle’s funeral, and lastly her best jeans with a black button-down which someone had once remarked made her look like a prison warden. Each successive outfit simply seemed to make her double in size whilst simultaneously pinching or scratching everywhere. And that was without even _starting_ on her face, her hair, or the nightmare that was shoes.

She knew it was ridiculous to be worrying so much about what to wear on _what absolutely wasn’t a date_ with Jaime, but her mind didn’t seem to want to listen to this particular logic. The problem was, really, that the Winterfell Towers Hotel probably had a dress code. Yes, that was most definitely the only problem.

Finally, in desperation, she seized her phone and quickly found Margaery’s number. Brienne’s first order of the day, after the morning’s meeting with Jaime and Catelyn, had been to rectify her error of not having all of the cast’s numbers in her contacts list. It still felt somehow improper and intrusive to her, but she couldn’t overlook the mild thrill it had given her to type in Jaime’s number. She had even stared at his name sitting there in her phone and shaken her head in wonder at the surreality of her situation. Then she noticed the name above – Hyle – and quickly closed the contacts list down.

It had certainly been an extraordinary day, she reflected as she waited for Margaery to pick up. She had been surprised to find how easily everyone had slipped back into the rhythm of the show once the rehearsal had got underway. Stannis’ words – _By next week, all of this will be forgotten -_ had proved eerily prophetic. It was _almost_ as though nothing had occurred, but for one glaringly obvious difference – the presence of a smiling, cooperative Jaime.

Whereas before, his presence in rehearsal had felt, at times, like a black hole of negativity sucking everything down into it, now he was more like a sun drawing them all into his orbit, forcing the other actors to raise their game to keep up with him. Despite his biting back several incipient interruptions with a sheepish grin and a muttered ‘Sorry’, and at one point launching into an impassioned analysis of Miss Prism’s character before Catelyn gently shut him down, there was a new energy in the room which radiated unmistakeably from him. It suddenly wasn’t difficult to see him for the star that he was, and at the end of the session there was a palpable buzz which everyone was clearly able to sense. Brienne would have been starting to feel excited about the show, if she hadn’t had other, rather more pressing feelings of panic demanding her attention.

‘Brienne?’ said Margaery’s voice curiously. ‘What’s up?’

‘Oh, hi, Marge, it’s Brienne. Um - I’m sorry to bother you, but, um, I – I need your help. Please,’ she stammered, feeling mortified. _Why did I think this would be a good idea, again?_

‘Sure!’ said Margaery brightly. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Um – well – it’s - Jaime asked me to dinner with him tonight at his hotel,’ she blurted.

‘Ooh, hot date! _Yes!’_ exclaimed Margaery. ‘I knew it!’

Brienne wanted the floor to swallow her. ‘No, no, it’s not like that,’ she choked. ‘He made it very clear that he just wanted to thank me for setting him straight and to apologise for being rude to me on Friday.’

‘ _Riiiight,’_ said Margaery in a humouring tone.

Brienne gulped and soldiered on. ‘So the thing is, I’ve got nothing to wear.’

‘I doubt he wants you to _wear_ anything.’

‘Marge, _please_ , I’m telling you it’s not like that. Really. I just need to know what to wear to a friendly, professional dinner with a famous actor at a high-class hotel.’

‘So which is it? Friendly, or professional?’

‘Um, I – um,’ Brienne stumbled and frowned. ‘Friendly. No. Professional. No. I don’t know. It’s on a professional matter. But we’re friends. I think. I’m... confused. I’m not sure why he asked me. He said it was to make it up to me because of last week. There’s really no need though. I think he’s just trying to be nice. Part of his turning over a new leaf, I suppose.’ She knew she was burbling but didn’t seem able to stop.

‘What do you have that’s blue?’ interrupted Margaery decisively.

‘Blue?’

‘Yup.’

Brienne thought hard. ‘Um... jeans, sweatpants, a couple of t-shirts, pyjamas...’

She could almost hear Margaery rolling her eyes. ‘Actual clothes, Brienne.’

‘Why does it have to be blue?’

‘Just trust me.’

Brienne chewed her lip thoughtfully and then remembered something. ‘Oh! I’ve got this blue silk shirt. Like a big one. Men’s style. I bought it for a party in college.’

‘Ooh. Silk, you say? Is it slinky?’

‘I – I’m not sure. It’s kind of shiny?’

‘Does it button down the front? Can you undo a couple of buttons? What would you wear it with? _Not_ jeans!’ she added hurriedly as Brienne started to open her mouth.

‘Um, it does button, yes. And I suppose... black leggings? Would that be acceptable, do you think?’

‘Heels?’

‘Pardon?’

Margaery sighed. ‘Do you own any shoes with a heel on them?’

Brienne thought hard again. ‘Only my interview boots. They’ve got like a one-inch heel. If I wore anything higher than that, I’d be two feet taller than everyone.’

‘True,’ mused Margaery. ‘You’re taller than him anyway. Probably best not to highlight that fact. Still, boots though!’ she continued excitedly. ‘Like, up to the knee?’

‘Well, they’re supposed to be. It’s more like mid-calf on me, actually.’

‘Oh my _gods_ , your legs are _too long_ for your knee-high boots?! I hate you, Brienne. But _Jaime_ is going to think he died and went to the seventh heaven!’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘Could you wear any make-up, do you think? I’m not sure that we should do anything with the mouth – it’s pretty kissable just as it is - but some eyeliner would really be amazing on you.’

Brienne wished Margaery would stop talking about her as though she were a lab animal, but then again she had asked for her help, so she supposed she only had herself to blame. Though she wasn’t sure how she’d made the leap to _kissing._ Because _that_ was _not_ going to be happening, she was certain of that.

‘ _Margaery!’_ she protested in a fierce hiss. ‘Gods! I told you, it’s not – Jaime and I are friends, that’s all.’

‘Uh – _huh!’_ said Margaery in a sing-song voice which indicated she didn’t believe a word of it. ‘Just wear what I said, okay? And – Brienne?’

‘Yes?’

‘Try to _relax._ It’s Jaime. He’s a good guy.’

Brienne breathed in and out. ‘I know. Thank you. And thanks for your help.’

‘A good guy who likes you a lot, I think,’ Margaery persisted. ‘But also one who’s probably feeling a little shaky right now, you know? He’s been through a lot, and he’s just taken an enormous leap of faith with this hand thing, but he’s done it because of you. So go easy on him, yeah?’

‘I – I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Brienne, you and Jaime are both walking walls of baggage, as far as I can tell. Just... try to check it at the door tonight. That’s all I’m saying.’

‘Um... okay,’ agreed Brienne uncertainly, still completely confused as to Margaery’s meaning.

‘And have _fun!_ ’

‘Um, thanks, but I told you, it’s really just a professional’ – she began, but Margaery had ended the call.

Half an hour later, Brienne found herself dressed, not without scepticism, according to Margaery’s instructions – minus the eyeliner – and pulling up outside Winterfell Towers in a taxi. Taxis were a very rare indulgence on her part, but after all this fuss she didn’t dare risk ruining her one and only outfit option by cycling there in the wind and rain.

A liveried doorman stepped forward instantly and held a large umbrella, adorned with the hotel’s logo, over her as she stepped from the taxi. Surprised and embarrassed, she muttered a ‘Thank you’ and hurried up the steps under the awning and through the enormous revolving door.

Immediately it was as though she had walked through a portal into another world. She stood in the entrance to an enormous marble lobby, at the far end of which – so distant that she almost needed a telescope to see it – lay the hotel reception desk. The area in between was decorated with huge pillars and glistening glass islands adorned with gigantic flower arrangements. The heavy scent of lilies assailed her nostrils as she looked up and around in awe. Above her head hung several chandeliers which, although probably fake, dwarfed the theatre’s ruined one in size. Everything seemed to be gold and sparkly and plush. A few waiters and smartly dressed patrons glided about on silent feet, while from a luxuriously upholstered bar area to the left came the sound of soft jazz being played live on a piano.

 _What on earth am I doing here?_ she thought. She was about to turn and flee when a man, dressed in a dark suit of an unusual cut, materialised at her elbow as though from nowhere. He was handsome and youngish, but sported a striking white streak to one side of his otherwise dark reddish hair.

‘Good evening, madame. Does a man have the honour of addressing Miss Brienne Tarth?’ he asked, inclining his head in an obsequious half bow. He had a Free Cities accent which Brienne couldn’t quite place.

‘Er – um – yes, that’s me,’ she replied, somewhat startled.

The man bowed a little lower. ‘A lady will kindly come this way,’ he said, extending his arm and starting to walk in the direction of the plush bar.

‘I’m not a lady,’ muttered Brienne as she followed, her skin crawling with embarrassment as she took in the expensive-looking attire of the hotel guests and even its staff. She tugged awkwardly at the hem of her silk shirt, regretting the leggings, and was acutely aware of the fact that her boots didn’t come up to her knees and no doubt looked ridiculous, especially with the short black peacoat which she had been forced to dig out from under plastic. Several heads turned curiously in her direction as the man glided through the bar with her stomping along in his wake, until they came to rest behind the back of a deep leather armchair in a secluded corner of the bar.

The man – whom she now noticed had on a rectangular black name badge with the legend ‘Mr J H’ghar – Deputy Manager’ inscribed in white – bent low to speak to the chair’s occupant. ‘A gentleman’s guest has arrived,’ he murmured.

Jaime leapt immediately from the chair, almost dropping the glass he was holding, his face wreathed in a silly grin. He had changed into a pair of smart dark slacks and a fresh t-shirt, also white but with a slight V-neck, over which he wore some kind of beautifully tailored jacket. He managed to look effortless and yet devastatingly attractive, and he smelled even better than before. Brienne’s breath almost left her body and she couldn’t help thinking again that this whole thing was a huge mistake.

‘Hi,’ said Jaime, eyes sparkling.

‘Hi,’ she managed in return.

Jaime was looking her up and down – no doubt wondering what on earth she was thinking, turning up at his exclusive hotel looking like some pantomime principal boy who had outgrown his costume during the school holidays. He half turned his head to the deputy manager, who was hovering by his elbow, and without really taking his eyes off Brienne he slapped the man on the shoulder, then reached into his pocket and pressed what looked like a very large denomination note into H’ghar’s hand.

‘Thanks, Jaqen, my man,’ he said in a comradely tone.

‘When a gentleman and a lady are ready to eat, simply call. A man will escort them to their table,’ purred Jaqen.

‘Will do,’ said Jaime. ‘Thanks.’

Jaqen bowed once more and retreated, and when Brienne glanced over her shoulder, he seemed to have vanished into thin air. She wondered vaguely about trap doors, then realised this wasn’t a stage set, although the whole place looked as though it belonged in a movie. _A very expensive movie which I don’t belong in_ , she thought miserably.

Jaime was still staring. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked eventually. ‘Um – thanks for coming. You – you look great, by the way.’

‘No I don’t. I look ridiculous,’ she muttered.

Jaime smiled incredulously. ‘What? Of course you don’t. That blue is amazing on you. I told you before, it goes with your eyes.’ He took a step closer to her, still staring intently. ‘Your eyes really are astonishing, you know. Has anyone ever told you that?’

She blushed and shuffled backwards involuntarily, mortified, dropping her gaze and then quickly looking up again at a glimpse of her comical boots. ‘They’re just... _eyes._ ’ _Gods, this is excruciating. Why is he doing this? Why did I agree to it?_ ‘Look, Jaime,’ she pleaded in agony. ‘This – I’m sorry – this was a really bad idea. I don’t want to inconvenience you or anyone else, but I should just go. I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.’

His face fell a mile. ‘What? No! What’s wrong?’

She gestured helplessly at their surroundings, and then down at herself. ‘This place. _Me._ Look at me! I – I can’t eat here. I can’t _be_ here. It’s all wrong.’

He grabbed her elbow and pulled her towards the chair where he had been sitting, which had another identical one opposite, facing towards the lobby. ‘Brienne,’ he said earnestly. ‘You’re talking nonsense. You know what _I_ looked like until two days ago, and they still treated me like fucking Azor Ahai even then. Nobody cares what you’re wearing, and anyway, like I said, you look fine. More than fine.’

‘It’s different for you,’ she muttered. ‘I bet there’s no dress code if you’re rich and famous. But I just stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this. People keep staring at me. I mean, more than usual.’

He smiled. ‘Okay, wench, number one: if people are staring at you, it’s probably about twenty percent because you’re standing up and making a crazy fuss for no reason instead of sitting down and having a drink like a normal person. And about eighty percent because you look like a bloody supermodel in that outfit.’

Brienne blinked in shock.

‘And two,' continued Jaime, ‘they’re probably actually staring at _me_ anyway, so just ignore them. I know it’s hard, but you just have to get used to it. I’ve got out of the habit, unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on your point of view. Nobody’s recognised me for three years, so it’s a bit of a culture shock to have all that stuff happening again. Especially with – you know.’ He gestured with the empty cuff of his right jacket sleeve. ‘So how about we just ride it out together, eh? We can be each other’s bodyguards, if required. Now for fuck’s sake sit down, wench.’

With a huff, she plopped down unceremoniously into the chair, which was actually rather comfortable and just the right size for her large frame, for a change. Jaime smiled indulgently.

‘Good stuff,’ he said. ‘Now what’ll it be? To drink?’ he clarified, when she looked blank.

‘Oh – um – a sparkling water will be fine, thank you, Jaime. No ice though. Sorry, you probably want something stronger.’

He frowned slightly. ‘No, that’s what I’m having too. I told you, I don’t drink much. Well, y’know, apart from my little crisis this weekend, but that was a one-off. And for the love of the Seven will you _stop_ fucking apologising? You said that to me this morning, so now I’m telling you.’ He leaned forward. ‘I’m happy you’re here, Brienne. Okay? I’m fucking _delighted_ that you’re here. So just relax. Please. I’ve got this.’

He raised a finger almost imperceptibly in the direction of a waitress and she appeared at his side in a millisecond. ‘Yes, ser, what can I get for you, Mr Lannister ser?’ murmured the girl. She was almost gaping at Jaime, her eyes wide and shining like diamonds.

He produced a smile that should really have been accompanied by a ‘Ching!’ sound effect and a star glinting off a perfect white tooth. ‘Another two sparkling waters please - Pia,’ he replied with a surreptitious peek at her name badge. ‘No ice, for my friend. Thanks.’

Pia cast a suspicious glance at Brienne and mumbled, ‘Yes, ser. Of course, ser. Right away, Mr Lannister,’ and with a final, longing look at Jaime she scurried away, stumbling slightly in her haste and almost dropping her tray.

Brienne started to laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’ demanded Jaime. ‘So she fancies me. It happens. I don’t ask for it, you know.’

‘It’s not that,’ she chuckled. ‘I’ve just never seen you like this. I don’t know – playing the star card. I mean, apart from being a total diva at rehearsals, of course. Not including today. _Possibly_.’

Jaime scowled, but he could clearly tell she was teasing. ‘Yeah, well, like I say, I’ve had three years out of the game. I mean, the press in King’s Landing know me, but I’ve fallen so far from the public eye that frankly I’m a little surprised by anyone recognising me at all, especially up here. Although the hotel staff don’t count because they all know I’ve been staying here for a month. Still, my face is getting reactions which I’ve got out of the habit of dealing with. I’d forgotten how annoying it is most of the time, but occasionally it doesn’t hurt to have a little fun with it. I’ll be bored of it by tomorrow, don’t worry.’

‘You’re just loving being able to flirt again,’ she said shyly.

He looked up sharply. ‘Flirt? I don’t flirt. Well, not for real,’ he said. ‘Charming people is part of the job, but honestly I’ve never been very good at that, either. I got branded as a bad boy so early on that I never really had to try. Look at most of my photos and you’ll see me snarling, not smiling. So this is actually something of a novelty for me. But I’m not – I wasn’t _flirting_ with her. I wouldn’t want you to think that. That’s not who I am.’

He said it so earnestly that Brienne stuttered out an apology.

‘It’s okay,’ he said slowly. ‘But it’s kind of important to me that you don’t get the idea that just because I smile at a waitress, I’m some kind of... playboy. Because I’m not. That couldn’t be further from the truth, in fact.’

‘Jaime, I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to offend you,’ she breathed tentatively. _This really isn’t going well._

Pia returned at that moment with their drinks, setting Brienne’s down with considerably less care and grace than Jaime’s. Jaime thanked her and smiled at her again, but Brienne couldn’t help noticing that he made the smile deliberately different. This time it was polite and almost avuncular, and Pia scuttled away looking confused and mildly chastised, shooting a worried look at Brienne as though suddenly regretting not treating her with more deference.

‘That was impressive,’ smiled Brienne, once the girl was out of earshot. ‘You didn’t even have to speak.’

Jaime shrugged. ‘Just proving a point. I’m an actor, I’ve got a different smile for every occasion. But I can’t have you getting the wrong impression of me right from the start, now can I?’

 _The start?_ she thought, confused. _The start of what? We’ve known each other for nearly a month._ Then she realised he must be making a reference to his own new beginning.

‘Well,’ she said, lightly teasing, ‘maybe I _did_ have the wrong impression. At the start. But now I know better, and so does everyone else.’

‘Everyone?’ he mused, sipping his drink. ‘No, I don’t think so. Not yet. But I’m going to show the world, Brienne. Do some good. Like you said. This is my last chance.’ He smirked. ‘Remind me, did I thank you? For telling me what a complete fucking tool I was being? Tyrion wants to thank you too, by the way. He’s dying to meet you. He’s convinced you must be some kind of sorceress, to have finally got through to me.’

She blushed. ‘That’s why I’m here, remember?’ He frowned, confused. ‘For you to thank me? That’s what tonight is about? Right?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ he murmured, staring into his drink again and chewing his lip a little. ‘I did say that, didn’t I?’ He looked up at her and took a breath. ‘The truth is, I panicked. I actually wanted’ –

‘Well, well, fuck me, if it isn’t Brienne the Beauty!’ cried a voice from across the bar. _One of the voices she had never wanted to hear again as long as she lived._

She looked up in horror to see a large red-haired man in a cheap suit lurching towards them, briefcase in one hand and beer glass in the other. _Ron Connington._ Bile rose in her throat, but her nausea quickly turned to white-hot fury and shame when she saw his thin, dark-haired companion wobbling after him. _Hyle Hunt. No. Oh gods, why here? Why now?_

The two men bore down on Brienne with single-minded focus, Ron beaming with triumphant glee and Hyle looking somewhat sheepish. They arrived at her side without even glancing in Jaime’s direction.

‘Ron. Hyle,’ she greeted through clenched teeth.

‘Hi, Brienne,’ muttered Hyle miserably.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw curiosity flicker across Jaime’s face and then him moving his right arm to conceal it. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked the two intruders, in as unfriendly a voice as she could muster.

‘Conference,’ swaggered Ron with exaggerated self-importance, flashing an ID badge which hung around his neck. ‘We work in IT now, don’t we, Hyle?’ He made it sound as though he were on the frontline of finding a cure for cancer.

‘That’s right,’ confirmed Hyle in the same glum tone as before. ‘What are _you_ doing here?’

‘I’m – um’ – she began, wondering how on earth she was going to explain Jaime’s presence, but it was too late.

‘Aww, look, Hyle, she’s on a _date_ ,’ said Ron with fake cuteness. He looked blearily at Jaime in the rather dim lighting, then did a double take, looked again, and finally bent forward to peer at him. Jaime held his gaze, silent and unflinching. Then, to Brienne’s horror, Ron lent back and cackled with uproarious laughter.

‘Oh fuck! Oh fuck that’s funny!’ he guffawed.

Jaime flashed her a glance, clearly as perplexed as she was.

‘Oh my fucking _gods!_ ’ Ron was still laughing, dropping his briefcase to clutch at his gut, though he kept a tight hold on the beer glass. He grabbed Hyle’s arm. Hyle also looked confused. ‘You see that? You see that, Hyle?’ wheezed Ron. ‘She’s got so desperate since you dumped her, she’s hiring celebrity lookalike escorts! Oh my gods that’s priceless!’

Jaime’s eyebrows slowly rose.

Hyle started to chortle along with his friend, his laughter gradually reaching an equal crescendo. ‘Hey mate,’ he managed to say eventually, addressing Jaime, ‘I hope she’s paying you well. You don’t have to fuck her too, do you? Cause take it from me, it’s not worth the money!’

There was more laughter. Brienne wanted to die. Jaime’s eyebrows almost reached his hairline before descending abruptly at the sight of Brienne’s face.

Ron, meanwhile, had laughed himself out for the time being and was peering curiously at Jaime again, leaning in until he was mere inches from his face.

‘I’ll say this for you, though, mate,’ he said thoughtfully, with a slight hiccup. ‘You’re good. You look just like ‘im. Are those green contacts? Nice. Attention to detail.’ He sniggered. ‘You’ll be telling me next you cut off your’ –

Two jaws dropped as Jaime very deliberately lifted his right arm, reached across, and pushed back his jacket sleeve.

‘Mate...’ breathed Hyle, wide-eyed.

‘Jaime Lannister, at your service,’ said Jaime smoothly with a smile that could have cut diamonds. ‘Always a pleasure to meet some fans. And you are?’

There was a stunned silence.

Eventually, Brienne could stand it no longer and muttered, ‘Jaime, this is Ron Connington and Hyle Hunt. We, um, took a course together at Winterfell College of Technology. Basic electronics. It was a requirement before I started my job. Ron, Hyle, this is Jaime Lannister. He’s performing in the Winterfell Theatre’s forthcoming production, which I’m stage managing.’

Jaime peered at Brienne, clearly guessing that there was more to the story than she was letting on, but then turned his icy charm back to Ron and Hyle and added airily, ‘Yes, you should really come along. It’s a comedy. Should be right up your street.’

Ron, however, had started sniggering evilly again. ‘And what the _fuck_ , if you’ll pardon my Lyseni, is Jaime Fucking Lannister doing out on a date with a freak like her?’

In a flash, Jaime was on his feet and had seized Ron by the collar. ‘That’s no way to talk about a lady and you fucking know it!’ he hissed. ‘Call her by her name or I’ll’ –

‘You’ll _what?_ ’ snorted Ron, with a disgusted look at Jaime’s stump. ‘How you gonna punch me, stump boy? Hadn’t thought of that, had you?’

‘My head’s pretty hard,’ Jaime countered.

‘Jaime!’ Brienne began to protest, but suddenly she spotted Hyle’s hand reaching into his pocket. He withdrew his phone and was lining it up to take a photo. Brienne leaped up, grabbing his wrist and forcing his arm up behind his back. ‘Oh no you don’t,’ she hissed as the phone dropped from his fingers.

Ron and Jaime were still nose to nose, Jaime’s fingers clenched tightly around the other man’s shirt collar, tie and badge lanyard. ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ Ron sneered, attempting bravado although his eyes darted about anxiously. ‘It’d be all over the front page of the _Daily Raven_ first thing tomorrow.’

‘Oh, you think that scares me? I was on the front page of the _Daily Raven_ when you were still clinging to your mummy’s skirts, sonny! Now _fucking apologise!’_

‘Sorry,’ choked out Ron eventually.

Jaime tightened his grip. ‘Sorry, who?’

‘Brienne,’ he gasped. ‘Sorry, Brienne. _Beauty_ ,’ he added, and Jaime almost didn’t let him go, but he caught her eye and she nodded, so he eventually relaxed his hold and released him, leaving Ron coughing and scrabbling at the knot on his tie.

‘Sorry,’ mumbled Hyle, taking a couple of steps backwards. ‘I’m really sorry, you know, Brienne. For everything.’

‘Oh just get out of my sight, Hyle,’ she sighed in disgust, tossing him his phone.

Jaqen H’ghar reappeared beside them. ‘A lady requires assistance? There is something amiss? Does a gentleman wish a manager to call security?’ he asked Jaime.

‘No, no, thanks, Jaqen. Our two friends were just leaving, isn’t that right, gents?’

‘Right. C’mon, Ron,’ said Hyle, and led him away, Jaqen following closely behind.

Brienne collapsed back into the chair. There was a long silence.

Jaime watched her closely. ‘Want a stiffer drink now?’ he asked eventually.

‘No. No thanks. I think – I think I’d just like to leave, Jaime, if you don’t mind.’

He nodded. ‘Come on then.’ She looked up in curiosity. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’

‘Where?’

‘I don’t know. Around the block. You still need to eat. We’ll find some takeout or something.’

‘Jaime – it’s raining. And you don’t want to eat takeout food with me,’ she protested.

‘We can borrow an umbrella. And actually, yes I do. This posh stuff in here is all right, but it’s not really my style. I’ve had half a lifetime of eating on film sets. I think food should come in polystyrene. This’ – he waved his hand, indicating the hotel – ‘more my father’s cup of tea, honestly. I’m getting very, very bored of it, if you really want to know.’

‘But – but it’s dark. You hate the dark.’

‘I hate seeing that look on your face a great deal more. Anyway, mutual bodyguards, remember? I just did my turn, so you owe me.’ He winked.

‘What about your journalist stalker?’

‘Roose? Oh, he’s not back from the weekend yet, fortunately. He’s got a new wife, apparently, so he scuttles back to King’s Landing every Friday to do his marital duty. Shudder the thought. Besides, he’s printed his story about me being up here and he thinks that’s the end of it. He hasn’t seen me looking like this yet. My life will be hell once he does - which is partly why Tyrion’s coming up, to manage the maelstrom - but I’m safe for tonight at least. Come _on_ , wench. I’m starving!’

Finding her stock of arguments exhausted, Brienne sighed and rose to her feet. Five minutes later they were outside, Jaime huddling what seemed unnecessarily close to her under the enormous hotel umbrella which he had procured from Jaqen. The manager had also, quite unbidden, brought Jaime a smart grey woollen coat, which seemed to be his, since he produced from the pocket the daft red beanie hat which he had worn on the previous occasion when they had walked these streets together.

‘What?’ he asked in mild affront when Brienne laughed, as he pulled it on awkwardly with his one hand. ‘It’s the hair which people notice, wench.’

‘It’s your ego which people notice,’ she retorted, her heart starting to feel light again despite the horror of their encounter with Ron and Hyle. Jaime chuckled and moved a little closer beneath the umbrella.

By the time she had steered them in the direction of the best Pentoshi takeaway on this side of town, and they were sheltering beneath an awning, happily tucking into the food together – Brienne holding the container between them – she was feeling considerably better. She could hardly believe that she was standing here in the Winterfell rain, sharing greasy food in companionable silence with Jaime Lannister, but it felt good – effortless and right, as though they had been doing this for years.

Jaime finished eating, opened the can of soda which he’d bought, took a swig, and shot a glance at Brienne’s face. ‘Um, wench?’ he began tentatively.

‘Hmm?’ she replied, her mouth full of food.

He hesitated. ‘Look, um, I don’t mean to pry. Tell me it’s none of my fucking business if you want, but I’ve got to ask. What, um – what did that guy mean? Hyle, is it? When he said – when he said it um, wasn’t worth the money?’

She turned her head sharply to look at him. His face was tense with embarrassment and what looked like fear. She suddenly realised what that remark must have sounded like to someone who didn’t know her history, and flushed crimson.

‘Oh gods, Jaime! What must you think of me?’

His eyes widened anxiously and he placed his stump on her arm. ‘No! No, I’m not judging you. I promise. It’s – it’s just’ –

‘It was a bet,’ she said bluntly.

His jaw and arm both dropped. _‘A bet?’_

She sighed. It actually felt good to be able to talk about it.

‘Yes. Like I said, I was on this electronics course at the technical college. It was all guys apart from me. Hyle and Ron and a bunch of their mates – well, unbeknown to me they started this betting pool. About me. To see who could – you could – you know – first. With me.’

Jaime gaped, dumbstruck.

‘They all started... wooing me. I thought it was weird, but I quite liked Hyle, so I – I let it happen. And eventually he, um, won the bet.’ She blushed and looked away.

‘You _slept_ with that loser?!’

‘We’d been kind of dating for a little while, and he _seemed_ nice – genuine, not like the others – so I... yeah. I guess I was a bit... well, anxious to lose my - well, you know.’

Jaime’s jaw dropped even further. ‘Oh seven fucking hells, Brienne, you mean you had your _first time_ with that total piece of shit?! That’s – fuck, I have no words. How could anyone do that to you?’

She shrugged. ‘Because I was there? Because it’s fun to taunt the big ugly girl? It’s hardly the first time. Just the worst. Don’t worry, they won’t really go to the papers, though. They’re both too big of a coward for that.’

Jaime ground his jaw. ‘Fuck,’ he hissed. ‘I wish I’d known all this when I had the little turds in my grasp. I’ve just thought of a good use for that gold prop hand I told you about.’ He looked at her. ‘So what happened?’

‘Oh, Hyle felt sort of bad afterwards, I suppose, and told me everything. So I punched him. Hard.’

‘Good. Then what?’

‘Then I cried a lot. Then I went in on the Monday and punched Ron too. It was his idea, apparently. But guess who got into trouble over it?’

 _‘You?’_ asked Jaime incredulously.

‘I got called into the dean’s office. He was a sexist old git who informed me that it was “only natural to expect some high jinks” when a woman “insinuated herself into a man’s world”’, she quoted with distaste. ‘He said he would reprimand the perpetrators but that he couldn’t suspend them because it was too close to graduation and “not really worth his bother”. I think they got a mild rap on the knuckles but that was all. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. It was hideous. I haven’t seen Hyle since, though he did try to phone me a few times to apologise a bit more.’

‘That is utterly horrific,’ said Jaime. ‘You know you’d probably have a legal case against the college for sex discrimination?’

She sighed again. ‘I guess so. I just let it go, though. Sometimes that’s easier, you know?’

He gave her a look of understanding. ‘You’re preaching to the choir.’ He paused. ‘So... is that your deepest, darkest secret, then, wench?’

She looked at him and saw his eyes were twinkling, trying to lighten her mood. She shrugged.

‘I guess so. Let’s see. I punched another guy when I was seventeen. Some jerk my dad tried to set me up with, who said something about me “learning my place”. I guess I was a pretty angry teenager.’

Jaime grinned. ‘I see I really didn’t need to spring to your defence in there. Gods, I’m starting to feel quite relieved that I managed to get away with you only yelling at me last week.’

She gave him a gentle, playful punch on the arm and he howled in mock agony and staggered to the side, laughing.

‘And I, um’ – she blushed and hesitated, unsure why she felt a sudden need to tell him everything – ‘I also, um, had kind of a crush on Renly. For ages.’

Jaime’s laughter subsided and he looked at her with interest. _‘Had?_ Past tense, right?’

‘Gods, yes,’ she confirmed, deeply embarrassed. ‘I realise now it was just silly.’

‘It’s not silly, wench. You couldn’t help it. I just – well, I wouldn’t want to think of you still... you know, suffering because of it.’ He looked somewhat uncomfortable but was watching her face keenly.

 _No, I’m suffering because of_ you, she thought. _Every day. Every minute._ Still, it was obvious that he cared about her. She smiled warmly.

‘No, don’t worry, I’m totally over it.’

‘Phew, well that’s good.’ He sounded disproportionately relieved. There was another pause and he looked away. ‘Want me to tell you _my_ deepest, darkest secret?’ he asked at last with what sounded like strained levity.

She looked at him curiously. ‘Don’t I already know it?’

He glanced around sharply. ‘What? Oh, you mean Aerys. That hardly qualifies, wench. “Shock news: Man Doesn’t Commit Crime”.’ He snorted. ‘No, I, um, meant Cersei.’

Brienne’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Your sister?’

‘Yeah. Her,’ he said grimly. ‘I, um, take it you’ve heard the stories, then?’

‘Um. Kind of.’

Jaime looked up into her eyes, his expression almost desperate. ‘Yeah, well, it wasn’t like they said in the papers. But you’ve guessed that already.’ He gulped audibly. ‘We didn’t – _do_ anything. Not – not on camera.’

There was a long pause as the meaning of his words sank in.

‘You – you mean – something _did_ happen – _off_ camera?’ she whispered finally.

He swallowed hard again, his face creased in pain. ‘A long time ago. When we were teenagers. Look, I’m not exactly proud of it. We didn’t have what you’d call a normal adolescence. We were super close as children, then when we were eight and Tyrion was two, our mother died from ovarian cancer. Father was distraught, but he has no people skills whatsoever – especially when it comes to his own kids – and he just couldn’t cope, so he hired a full-time nanny to take care of Tyrion and packed me and Cersei off to separate boarding schools. For ten years we only saw each other during the holidays, and things got kind of... weird, and intense. It’s no excuse, but, yeah, it happened.’ He stared at her. Her mind was reeling as she tried to absorb this new information. Eventually he sighed and looked away. ‘And now you hate me.’

‘No!’ the cry escaped her lips before her brain had even caught up, but when it did so, she was no less certain. She could never hate him. What he had done didn’t matter. All that mattered to her was the Jaime standing in front of her now, his chiselled jaw clenched beneath his stupid red beanie hat, and she wanted nothing more than to take him in her arms.

‘I don’t hate you,’ she insisted as he turned his haunted eyes to her again. ‘It’s in the past. It’s –it’s like you said, you couldn’t help it.’

He snorted. ‘That’s probably debatable, wench.’

‘Even so. Our past doesn’t have to shape us, Jaime. Not unless we let it.’

A faint smile crossed his lips. ‘Yes, I think I’m finally beginning to understand that. Thanks to you.’

She hesitated, her heart pounding. ‘It – it _is_ in the past, right? I’m sorry for asking, but’ -

‘No, it’s a fair question. I asked you the same thing, after all,’ he smiled. ‘And yes, it is. Cersei married Robert Baratheon – Stannis and Renly’s eldest brother – when we were twenty, and it stopped after that. I’d hardly seen her for two or three years beforehand anyway, what with drama school and the Aerys debacle and me filming practically every waking hour. Robert was an utter shit to her – drank, slept around, may or may not have hit her – and I did my best to try to protect her, as any brother would, but I was hardly ever around. She was the one who approached me about us making the movies together. She just wanted to ride on my coat-tails to boost her career, I realise now, but at the time I was a bit of a sucker, as Tyrion would say, and she knew how to manipulate me. I didn’t realise what I was getting into until it was too late to back out. I know that’s the oldest excuse in the book, but really I just wanted to help her out. The director, Petyr Baelish, was known for making porn movies, but Cersei never saw fit to tell me that. I found out later. I was lucky to salvage my career, to be honest. Hers tanked, though, and she never forgave me, even though it wasn’t my fault. She lost the plot a bit, actually.’

‘What did she do?’

‘Oh, she started sending me crazy emails about how I was obviously in love with her and that was why I’d never made it work with any other woman. She wrote all this insane shit about how I should “buy her an island” and we’d run away and live there together and make babies. She actually said “We were born together, we must die together”. It was very disturbing. I think she was on drugs. I told Father – not the details – and he got her into rehab.’

‘That’s so sad, Jaime.’

‘Oh, you haven’t heard the worst yet. After I was attacked, I was in hospital and so high on morphine and gods know what else, that I started to wonder if she was right. I mean, there certainly was a time when I compared every other girl to her, I won’t deny that. It was difficult not to – she was gorgeous, back before Robert and the drugs. I know that sounds awful but it’s the truth. Anyway, I got this warped notion into my doped-up, traumatized brain, that maybe losing my hand was a sign – that maybe Cersei and I _were_ supposed to be together, and that _was_ why it hadn’t worked out with anyone else. I begged Tyrion to get her to come and see me in hospital, until the poor guy looked so embarrassed every day when he turned up instead of her. Eventually, one day, she did come. I can still remember vividly the surge of hope and joy which I got when I saw her step into the room.’ He paused. ‘And then she looked at my stump, gave my father’s _exact_ sneer, and said, “Eww, Jaime, that’s _so_ gross. If you think you’re ever coming anywhere near me again with _that_ thing, on or off screen, you’ve got another think coming”, and she left. I haven’t seen or heard from her since. Neither do I wish to.’

Brienne gazed in silent awe as the final piece in the remarkable jigsaw that was Jaime Lannister slotted into place. It all made sense now. His solitude, his loathing of his maimed arm, the immense chip which he’d carried around on his shoulder for a lifetime. And she knew that she loved him with all her heart. It didn’t matter that he could never love her back; she was hopelessly lost forever. She turned to face him.

‘I lost a mother and a sibling too, you know,’ she murmured softly. ‘My mum and my brother Galladon were killed in a boating accident ten years ago, when I was fourteen. So I understand how you feel, a little bit anyway.’

He stared at her, his eyes a little glassy. ‘That – _that’s_ your takeaway from everything I just told you?’ She nodded and shrugged. ‘Gods, you really are an amazing girl,’ he said in an awestruck whisper. ‘Thank you. And I’m so sorry. About your mum and brother. That’s awful. It’s not even that long ago. How come I had no idea? You should have told me before.’

Brienne shrugged again. ‘I don’t talk about it much. Dad took it much worse than I did, I think. That’s why he closed down the theatre company.’

‘Then it really is a tragedy of epic proportions,’ said Jaime seriously. ‘Seven hells, the world can’t afford to lose talent like Selwyn Tarth. I wish there was something I could do to help.’

A gust of wind shook the awning above them and a cascade of water fell, abruptly drenching Jaime’s trousers and Brienne’s entire right side. She shook herself ruefully.

‘Come on, wench, we should get you home,’ said Jaime, chuckling. He pulled out his phone. ‘I’ll call Jon.’

‘What? No, don’t be silly, I’ll take a taxi.’

‘No you won’t, wench. For starters, you could wait ages for one in this rain, at least if it’s anything like King’s Landing. Secondly, what’s the point in having your own personal movie star with access to chauffeur-driven transport if you don’t exploit me at least occasionally? And thirdly, I tried to lay Jon off but he refused to leave – said it wouldn’t be “honourable” not to see out his contract – so now I feel duty bound to give him stuff to do. He insisted on staying on call tonight once he heard you were coming.’

‘You tried to _fire_ Jon?’ asked Brienne, horrified.

‘What? No, relax! I just realised I was being a diva, as you would put it, by being chauffeured a ridiculously short distance every day, and decided it would be healthier – physically and mentally – for me to walk. But the stubborn lad wouldn’t hear of it. Even offered to work for no pay – which I refused, of course. Honestly, I despair.’ He smirked wickedly.

Brienne rolled her eyes. ‘Fine. I’ll go with Jon. Thank you.’

‘Let’s walk back to the hotel so that he knows where to pick you up.’

‘Okay.’

Jaime put up the umbrella again, made the short phone call, and they walked the rest of the distance in silence. As they approached the corner where the hotel stood, he slowed to a halt and turned to face her. He was disconcertingly close under the black and white canopy.

‘Brienne,’ he said, ‘I had a really great time tonight. I mean, apart from the fight with those assholes - whom I shall kill, by the way, if I ever see them again. But, um, we should really do this again some time.’

She really wished he would get past this compulsion to keep showering her with thanks and apologies for the previous week’s events, especially when they seemed like a distant dream to her now. The fight with Hyle and Ron had been unpleasant, certainly, but it hadn’t detracted from the purpose of the evening, and had actually led to her being far more relaxed around Jaime than she would ever have been in the Winterfell Towers’ restaurant.

‘Jaime, there’s no need,’ she said earnestly. ‘Once was enough. More than enough.’

‘Oh,’ he said bleakly, his face falling. ‘I see. Sorry. I – I thought... Sorry.’ He bit his lip in a pinched manner.

She realised how her words must have sounded. ‘Oh – I don’t mean it was awful. It was...’ _Amazing. Incredible. Just being near you is all I ever want._ ‘It was very nice,’ she managed with a gulp. ‘I really appreciate... everything. I just meant, you don’t need to put yourself out for my sake. You’ve – you’ve paid your _debt_ , Mr _Lannister_ ,’ she joked.

He stared at her with a curious expression. A car horn beeped from across the street in front of the hotel.

‘It’s Jon,’ he said, looking over her shoulder. ‘Come on, wench.’

He ushered her across the road and held the umbrella over her as she climbed into the back seat of the ridiculously large and plush black vehicle, while Jon held the door open stiffly. Jaime leaned down into the car to speak to her.

‘Goodnight, Brienne,’ he said.

‘Goodnight, Jaime. Get some rest. You’ve got that photo shoot tomorrow for the new poster, remember?’

He smirked and rolled his eyes. ‘How could I forget?’ He seemed to be trying to lean in closer, but the umbrella prevented him from doing so and he withdrew awkwardly. ‘Well, um, goodnight. Again. And thank you. Again. For everything.’

‘I already told you,’ she said with a soft smile. ‘Forget about it. Please.’

‘No chance of that,’ he said in a heated tone which made her knees go weak. Then he winked and pushed the door closed. She gave him a little wave through the window as he turned and trotted up the steps into the hotel, and then sank back into the seat with a sigh.

The glass partition dividing the back of the car from the driver’s seat hummed down.

‘Evening, Miss Tarth,’ said Jon with his usual deadpan expression. ‘Home, is it? What’s your address?’

‘Oh – 33b South Gate, please. Thanks for doing this for me. And it’s Brienne.’

‘It’s no problem, er, Brienne,’ said Jon. He tapped his GPS a few times, and then looked at her in the rear view mirror as he started to pull off. ‘Good evening, was it?’

Brienne smiled a dreamy smile. ‘Yes, Jon,’ she nodded. ‘Yes it was.’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A humble shoutout to whoever it was who first came up with 'Pentoshi takeout'. It seems to have pervaded the fandom to such an extent that all Mod AU versions of JB now seem to eat it. So mine could be no exception. The credit, however, is not mine to claim.


	12. Ever since I met you I have admired you more than any girl... I have ever met since... I met you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaime receives a visitor and an unusual delivery, and Brienne gets more than she bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here. It's shorter. But hopefully still sweet.
> 
> Seriously, I have no idea how this happened. :-)
> 
> I am also about to go back an edit a couple of earlier chapters for typos and a couple of minor inconsistencies which I noticed on a re-read. It doesn't change anything, but if you see this fic appearing multiple times over the next day or so, that's why.

**_Ever since I met you I have admired you more than any girl... I have ever met since... I met you._ **

****

The next few days were a wild flurry of activity. Brienne found herself rushing back and forth, trying to balance her time between attending rehearsals, checking on the status of props, costumes and set, liaising with Asha – the super-chilled Front of House manager – regarding opening night and the press gala, and overseeing the progress of the building work in the auditorium.

All traces of the broken chandelier had been spirited away, but the entire area was covered with a vast tarpaulin and a vertiginous scaffolding tower which stretched up into the domed roof. Another tarp was wrapped around a huge, globular object tucked out of harm’s way at the back of the stalls, under the overhang of the grand circle. This, presumably, was Jaime’s chandelier which would eventually be going up. Tools, wood and paint pots were strewn down the centre aisle, in front of the seats, and even on the stage. It was impossible to really tell how things were going, and the builders, who treated her with a kind of bemused deference, tended to merely grumble things in impenetrable Westerlands accents whenever she tried to quiz them.

Her main cause of concern was whether the company would be able to rehearse on the stage for Friday’s half-dress rehearsal. The builders scratched their heads and muttered something about noise, but that was the only word she could understand. They had all stopped work and gathered around to look at her as though she were some kind of zoo animal, standing there in her borrowed hard hat.

She seriously contemplated calling Jaime and asking him to come down and act as interpreter. They were his builders, after all. However, in view of the trouble which she’d got herself into the last time she let him into the auditorium – not to mention the fact that it was completely against all theatrical protocol to involve a leading actor in such matters – she restrained herself, and simply reminded them again politely that there would need to be a down-tools between 2pm and 5pm on Friday. The foreman gave her another bemused look and mumbled something which may have contained the word ‘overtime’.

‘Oh, well, you’ll need to check with Mr Lannister about that,’ she replied, blushing uncontrollably as she said his name.

‘Mmphh rrr ga mm wa Lannisterr, eh?’ said the man with a chuckle, pointing at her.

‘Um...? N-no, I think _you_ should ask him,’ she suggested uncertainly.

The man and all his colleagues who were within earshot threw back their heads and roared with laughter. ‘No thaaanks, Oi’m narr tha mumple rarr drup, innit?!’ exclaimed the foreman in great hilarity, and made a lewd gesture. ‘Eh? Eh??’ The other men laughed louder still.

Brienne could feel her face burning, but drew herself up to her full height. ‘Please just get on with your work,’ she said, in as imperious a tone as she could muster, ‘and have the stage ready for us by Friday, please, or I shall have to send him down here.’ An idea struck her. ‘Or call his _father.’_

As one, their expressions abruptly changed from amusement to terror, and a stony silence fell.

‘Roight. Froiday. Arr,’ grunted the foreman. ‘Yaarrd lady, innit lads, eh?’ and after a brief pause and a little general muttering, work resumed.

Brienne hurried out of the side door of the auditorium, shedding her hard hat at the door, and leaned back in the dark against the cool wall at the base of the stairs. Ever since their night out on Monday, she had been avoiding Jaime, and she wasn’t even sure why. Truthfully, she had actually been too busy to chat to anyone, apart from very briefly at the end of each rehearsal, and she had hardly been at her desk at all for several days. This had had the added advantage of her being able to dodge Margaery - who kept looking at her expectantly and would no doubt plague her with questions about her ‘date’ with Jaime if Brienne so much as stood still for five minutes – and of leaving her very little time to dwell on the events of that evening.

On Tuesday night she had received a text from Jaime which read: _Hey wenchlet, bolton saw me so staying @ WT or undercover till T gets here fri, sorry. See u tmrw J_

Rolling her eyes at the salutation, she pondered this. She could only imagine how annoying this Bolton character was going to be for Jaime if he’d caught sight of him transformed and with his stump on show. It would be obvious that something was afoot, and the journalist would be unlikely to give up until he discovered what it was, so she could hardly blame Jaime for wanting to keep his head down. ‘T’ must be his brother Tyrion. But what was he apologising to _her_ for?

_Sorry to hear that,_ she replied after a few moments’ hesitation. Then, unable to resist, she typed _And my name is BRIENNE_ and, smiling, she hit ‘Send’ again.

Almost immediately, a reply came back with a grinning emoji and the words _Y u sorry wench?_

_About Bolton,_ she typed back, trying to keep things short and simple.

There was a longer pause before the phone beeped again. This time, his reply consisted entirely of emojis. She frowned at them, trying to decipher his meaning. She supposed that for someone who was dyslexic and who only had their non-dominant hand to use, emojis were probably the easiest way to communicate by text, but frankly the message was an incomprehensible to her as the Lannisport builders’ accents. It seemed to start off with an angry face and a picture of a knife, then there was a blue heart, a crying face, and a red heart broken in two, and finally a winking face. Since she hadn’t the faintest idea how to reply, she simply sent back a smile and hoped for the best. He didn’t reply again.

Her attempts to escape Margaery came to an abrupt end on Thursday afternoon when the latter caught up with her as she was hurrying back up the stairs from lunch.

_‘Well??’_ asked Margaery excitedly. ‘How did it go? You’re not slipping away from me this time, girly. I’ve been on tenterhooks _all week!_ I keep trying to watch you and Jaime in the rehearsals, but neither of you is giving anything away. You’re both just so _focused,_ but I need information, dammit!’

Brienne blushed and attempted to quicken her pace. Truthfully, she had deliberately kept her head down in the script yesterday. Partly because it was necessary – Ygritte had been having a bad day with her lines, and the changes to the blocking were confusing everyone at one point or another, so Brienne needed to concentrate even more than usual in order to keep things on track. But she also didn’t trust herself to look at Jaime. He had appeared wearing another pair of extremely tight jeans – black, this time ( _Exactly how much new clothing had he bought in a single weekend?_ she wondered) – and his black leather jacket. This he shed, apparently without self-consciousness, once they began to work, revealing a red t-shirt underneath which left little to the imagination. It was positively sickening how good he managed to look in a simple t-shirt.

As if that weren’t distracting enough, he had taken to smiling almost _constantly_ when he wasn’t actually acting. When he _was_ acting, his character seemed to have acquired a newly sexual swagger, particularly in the romantic or flirtatious scenes with Ygritte. Frankly, it was no wonder the poor girl was forgetting her lines. The combination of this amped-up sexual charisma and the vulnerability inherent in his freshly visible disability was mesmerising.

Brienne found all kinds of irrationally jealous thoughts running through her head. _Is there something between Jaime and Ygritte? No – she’s with Jon. Don’t be stupid. Did he... get laid, or something? Something is different._ Then they would reach the end of the scene, and without looking at her, Jaime would smile this strange, knowing smile to himself.

Clearly, Brienne wasn’t the only one to notice, as at the end of the rehearsal Catelyn said, ‘Oh, and Jaime, could you, um, _dial it back_ a little in the love scenes please? A little less amorous and a little more period-appropriate, if you don’t mind.’

‘Yeah, ya dirty bugger,’ laughed Ygritte. ‘Hand off! I’m taken.’

‘Sorry,’ drawled Jaime, not really sounding it, and leaning back in his chair to scratch his chest idly while stretching his long, black denim clad legs in Brienne’s direction. She looked back quickly into the script, her face and entire body aflame, and pretended to write something down. When she dared to glance back up, Ygritte was whispering something in Jaime’s ear. He was biting his lip and smiling, and Brienne wanted to cry.

She gulped at the memory and pushed it aside.

‘Um – yeah, it was, um... good,’ she replied to Margaery. ‘It was fine.’

_‘Fine?’_ she echoed. ‘You go on a date with Jaime and it’s _fine?_ You’ve gotta give me more than that! _’_

Brienne’s stomach was churning. She really didn’t want to talk about this. She glanced anxiously over her shoulder lest anyone should be within hearing distance, and lowered her voice. ‘It wasn’t a date, but yes, it was fine. We had Pentoshi takeout and’ –

‘Wait, I thought you were having dinner at his hotel?’

Brienne couldn’t suppress a scowl at the memory of Ron and Hyle. ‘We were, but then we... ran into someone whom I didn’t want to see, and so we left.’

Margaery regarded her shrewdly as though wondering whether to ask more, but appeared to decide against it. ‘Okay. Then what?’

‘Then nothing. We walked, we ate takeout, we chatted, we got a bit soaked in the rain, then he called Jon to drive me home. End of.’

Margaery glanced around as well, before asking in a stage whisper, ‘Did he kiss you?’

‘No!’ cried Brienne, a little too loudly, then blushed and dropped her voice again. _‘No_ , Marge. I told you it’s not like that.’ _And if it ever was, it looks as though he’s moved on._

Margaery looked disappointed. ‘Oh.’ She brightened. ‘Did the outfit work, at least?’

‘I don’t know what you mean by “work”’, Brienne scowled. ‘I wore it. I felt stupid. But that’s not your fault. I – I appreciate your help, Marge, I really do. It’s just... me. I don’t fit in in environments like that, and’ -

‘Did Jaime tell you that?’ asked Margaery with a frown.

‘What? No, of course not. He said he liked it. He was just trying to put me at my ease though. He said some ridiculous stuff.’

‘Ridiculous like what?’

‘Oh, nothing. Just stuff about – about my eyes and how I looked like a – like a supermodel.’

Margaery clapped her hands together and squealed a little as Brienne opened the door at the top of the stairs. ‘Oh, I _knew_ it! Yes! The Tyrell genius strikes again! Don’t worry, don’t thank me now. Just make me maid of honour at your wedding.’ She winked exaggeratedly.

_‘Maid?’_ echoed a male voice, crashing in on Brienne’s embarrassment and teeming confusion. A very small, fair-haired man in a tailored suit rounded the corner and came face to face with them. ‘Seriously, babes? I’m wounded to the core!’

‘Tyrion!’ shrieked Margaery, flinging herself on him. ‘I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow!’

‘Baby,’ he purred. ‘I got an earlier flight. I missed you,’ and grasping her head as she dropped to a crouching position, the two of them proceeded to make out right there in the corridor.

Tyrion recovered his sense of propriety first and pulled away from Margaery to look up at Brienne. His head was about level with her hip bone, but he cast a glance up and down her – not judging or amused, merely curious – and then looked her sharply in the eyes with one piercing black eye and one, familiar-looking, green eye.

‘How do you do?’ he said formally, extending his hand upwards. ‘I’m Tyrion Lannister. And _you_ can only _possibly_ be Brienne.’

She bent slightly to shake Jaime’s brother’s hand, wondering what on earth Margaery had been saying about her. ‘Yes, I’m Brienne Tarth. I’m the Stage Manager. It’s very nice to meet you.’

‘Oh, the pleasure is all mine, my dear girl. _All_ mine. You have no idea how much.’ He grinned and glanced up at Margaery, who had stood up again and was fixing her hair, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘Do please forgive mine and Margaery’s pathetic display of mutual affection,’ he went on. ‘We haven’t seen each other in over a month.’

Brienne blushed. ‘Oh, um, that’s quite all right,’ she stammered.

‘Oh, I see what you mean now,’ he said, addressing Margaery while narrowing his eyes at Brienne’s face. ‘Does she do that all the time?’

‘Pretty much,’ replied Margaery with a smirk.

‘I am _right here,_ you know,’ muttered Brienne crossly, then rapidly added, ‘Sorry,’ as she heard how rude her words must have sounded to someone whom she had just met. Although the fact that she had been hearing Tyrion’s name from so many sources for so long now, coupled with that very familiar green eye, almost made it feel as though she knew him already. Whilst she couldn’t exactly approve of his underhand methods of persuading people to do things, she knew that he had done it all for Jaime, which made up for everything.

Tyrion laughed heartily. ‘Do you cheek my brother like that?’ he asked with delight.

Brienne couldn’t prevent the corners of her mouth from twitching. ‘Only when he deserves it.’

His laugh deepened. ‘Oh my dear girl, you and I both know that he deserves it _all the time.’_ Brienne gave up trying to fight her smile. He seized her hand impulsively between both of his. ‘My dear,’ he said, ‘you are utterly endearing and wonderfully surprising. I swear I will never fathom Jaime out as long as I live, but it’s an honour and a privilege to finally meet the woman who has, by all accounts, given me my brother back. For this relief, much thanks, dear girl. Much, much thanks. I’m actually overwhelmed.’ He paused and gave a devilish smirk. ‘Now, what’s all this about a wedding?’

Brienne let out an inarticulate squeak, which seemed to amuse them both greatly.

‘Oh shut up,’ said Margaery to Tyrion indulgently. ‘I was just teasing, right, Brienne?’

Brienne nodded dumbly.

‘So you’re saying I should hold the call to my tailor?’ Margaery punched him on the shoulder. ‘Ow!’ he yelped. ‘Where is my arguably least infuriating relative, anyway?’

‘I think he’s in with Catelyn,’ Brienne said. ‘I don’t expect he’ll be too long, though.’

‘Ah yes, the redoubtable Mrs Stark,’ exclaimed Tyrion. ‘She’s the one I have a meeting with, actually, although it wasn’t supposed to be until tomorrow. Still, the early bird and all that. But to be perfectly honest, I’m just champing at the bit to see Jaime. I haven’t even checked in at the hotel yet. Just got a taxi straight here from the airport. I really don’t think I’m quite going to believe this miraculous transformation until I see it in the flesh. Skype just wasn’t the – oh by the fucking Seven,’ he exhaled suddenly in disbelief, breaking off to stare past Brienne.

She turned, to see Jaime frozen at the opposite end of the corridor, then glanced back down at Tyrion, who was staring transfixed with what looked like a glint of a tear in his eye. She just had time to see him swallow hard before, with a sudden, loud, yelping roar of joy, Jaime bore down the corridor at lightning speed, grabbed Tyrion around the waist and swept him up and almost over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.

‘Jaime! Fuck, put me down, you fucking asshole, I’ve got a suit on!’ protested Tyrion, pummelling ineffectually on Jaime’s broad shoulders while Margaery burst into fits of laughter.

Jaime gave his brother one last bounce in the air before finally replacing him, scowling murderously, on the floor. ‘You’re the asshole,’ he grinned back, with a quick glance at Brienne. ‘You’re a day fucking early, you prick! Are the calendars fast in King’s Landing, or could you just not wait to see me?’

‘In your self-aggrandizing dreams,’ snorted Tyrion, and that was when Brienne knew she liked him. ‘I’m here to see Catelyn Stark. I’ve got your press releases and your copy for the new posters all here’ - he patted his jacket – ‘so we’re going to talk publicity and shit. You know, grown-up stuff. Nothing for you to worry your stupidly pretty head about.’ He sighed and looked Jaime up and down. ‘Just look at you, you asshole. What the actual fuck? Here endeth my all-too-brief reign as the good-looking Lannister brother. Still, it was great while it lasted, I suppose.’

‘Aww, you’re _my_ favourite,’ quipped Margaery, squeezing Tyrion’s earlobe.

‘Oh don’t pander to his ego, Marge,’ said Jaime. ‘He’s just fishing for compliments.’ He clapped Tyrion on the shoulder. ‘Have you met Brienne?’ he asked, turning to her with a blazing smile which seemed to turn up the temperature by several degrees.

‘I _have_ ,’ replied Tyrion in a meaningful tone, his eyes on Jaime’s face. He was smirking wildly and almost chewing on the inside of his cheek with apparent amusement.

Jaime looked down at him with curiosity. Tyrion raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Jaime frowned. Tyrion turned his enquiring expression towards Margaery, who flicked an eyebrow upwards the minutest amount and then shook her head. Tyrion turned back to Jaime and tilted his head in an exasperated manner. Jaime scowled menacingly. Tyrion rolled his eyes.

Brienne was baffled by this wordless dialogue, but a little envious nonetheless. She and Galladon had never got close enough to develop this kind of sibling communication. In fact, with the exception of her father, she had never really been that close to anyone.

‘So,’ announced Tyrion. ‘Do you want the good news, the bad news, or the weird-as-fuck news?’

‘Define what constitutes “weird as fuck” on Planet Tyrion, and then I’ll tell you,’ said Jaime.

‘Nope. It was a trick question, because I’m just going to tell you them in that order anyway. The good news is: Father is absolutely _not_ coming to your opening night. I had to endure the full twenty-minute ear-bashing about what in all the hells I thought I was doing, allowing you to make a public spectacle of yourself and disgrace the family name, No Son Of His, yada yada – you know the drill – and when I told him it had all been my idea in the first place, he actually hung up on me. So that’s what you might call a result, wouldn’t you say?’

‘That’s the _good_ news?’ Brienne couldn’t prevent herself from asking incredulously.

‘Oh, trust me, that’s the good news,’ said Tyrion. Jaime nodded emphatically. ‘The bad news is,’ Tyrion continued, ‘I have Roose Bolton calling me approximately every hour. He’s like a dog with a bone. Call him off me, or I _will_ show him the weird-as-fuck news. Or possibly throw it to him.’

‘The weird-as-fuck news being...?’

In response, Tyrion beckoned, and led them all around the corner to where a small, black, executive-type suitcase, with ‘TL’ monogrammed in gold on the side, was parked outside the door of the rehearsal room. He bent and flicked at the combination lock, then unzipped the case and reached inside, pulling out an object wrapped in protective plastic packaging.

‘I’ve got your _fucking hand_ in my bag,’ he said, holding it out to Jaime. ‘For the show, I mean. How the fuck I got through security with this, I will never know. I’m increasingly convinced that they don’t actually check the First Class baggage at all. Top tip – if you want to be a terrorist, be a rich terrorist. Well, take it then, you weird-ass motherfucker!’ he urged when Jaime simply stared at the package. ‘I don’t carry body parts around for fun, you know. I’m weirded out as fuck right now.’

‘That makes two of us,’ murmured Jaime, taking the package at last and turning it over and over in his hand.

‘Oh, and for the record, I am duty bound to impart to you on behalf of Dr Qyburn, that he does _not_ approve of you wearing this without a proper fitting, training session and appropriate counselling,’ Tyrion intoned.

Jaime rolled his eyes with a long-suffering grimace. ‘It’s a replica of a nineteenth-century wooden prosthesis. I somehow doubt Qyburn is an expert on such things. Besides, I only plan to wear it when I’m performing, I assure you.’

‘Who’s Dr Qyburn?’ asked Brienne.

‘My neurosurgeon. Funny little guy. He does like to check up on me though.’

‘Did you get it made specially, Jaime?’ asked Margaery, staring intrigued at the package.

‘Yep. I know this amazing sculptor, Tobho Mott. He usually works in bronze but he’s trained in woodwork too. I sent him some photos and my measurements and he took it from there. He’s knocked this out in four days. I owe him bigtime.’

‘Well, let’s see it then,’ said Tyrion. ‘I didn’t look. It came this morning by courier, like that.’

Jaime turned over the package once more and said ruefully, ‘Yeah, there’s a flaw in that plan, isn’t there? I can’t open it.’

‘Here, let me help,’ said Brienne at once, holding out her hand to take it from him. ‘I – I mean unless you’d rather we weren’t around?’ she asked, watching his eyes. ‘I mean – I know this is a big deal for you.’

‘Don’t be daft, wench,’ he said quietly, returning her gaze. ‘Of course I want you around.’ He handed over the package, which Brienne could see was well stuck with tape.

‘Wait in here,’ she said, opening the door to the rehearsal room. ‘I’ve got some scissors in my desk.’

When she returned, Margaery and Tyrion were nowhere to be seen and Jaime was sitting alone on one of the three chairs that represented the sofa on the set. He raised his head as she walked in and smiled at her in a predatory manner.

She blushed. ‘Where are Marge and your brother?’

‘Oh, they “went to find Catelyn”’, he grinned, giving it air quotes, ‘but it’s highly probable that they’ve just gone off to have sex. So it’s just you and me, wench. Well – you, me and my new friend there,’ he added, nodding at the white package which was still in her hand.

Her blush deepened, but she approached and sat down at the other end of the ‘sofa’, placing the package on the empty chair between them. Swiftly and efficiently, she began to snip at the tape encasing it.

‘Careful,’ said Jaime.

She stopped to look up and roll her eyes at him. ‘Because I was going to _not_ be careful on purpose.’

‘Sorry.’ He grinned sheepishly. ‘Just feeling a bit... on edge. You know.’

She smiled reassuringly. ‘I know. It’s okay.’

‘I know it is. You’re here,’ he replied in an intensely earnest tone which she’d never heard him use before and which made her flush to the roots of her hair. Blinking, she bent to continue cutting open the package, hoping he couldn’t see her hands trembling. Eventually, after some effort, she managed to form an opening large enough to reach inside and pull out the contents.

Pushing it towards Jaime, she murmured, ‘Here we are. It’s all yours.’

He gave her an odd look, then slowly reached across and pulled out from the plastic an exquisitely crafted life-size hand in a pale golden-brown wood. The three outer fingers were joined together, while the index finger was bent forward so that it was about an inch from the end of the slightly bent thumb, creating a light grip’s width. The wood was smooth and beautifully polished and the carving simple but realistic, with planes in the palm, knuckles, and even half-moon shapes carved lightly into the fingertips to indicate nails. At the base of the hand, it tapered into a wrist shape before flaring out again into a padded sleeve into which Jaime’s own wrist would obviously fit, fastened by a strap encircling the forearm. Long, sturdy leather straps hung from this, extending up to a further looped strap which looked as though it was meant to fit above the elbow, to secure it in place.

They both stared at it in silence for several minutes.

‘Wow,’ said Jaime eventually.

‘It’s... beautiful,’ breathed Brienne.

He turned to look at her. ‘You think so?’

She nodded. ‘How do you feel about it?’

There was a pause while he considered. He breathed in deeply. ‘Glad that I chose not to have to wear something like this every day, to be honest. I mean, I know things are very different these days – seven hells, I could even afford a robotic one, I know that perfectly well – but still. I like it, for the role. It – it feels like Jack. But... it doesn’t feel like _me._ ’ He looked at his stump and raised it slightly. ‘This feels like me. It’s weird. Until six days ago I could hardly bear to look at it. But now that I see _this’_ – he indicated the prosthetic – ‘I kind of... I dunno – realise how stupid it all is? Like, why would anyone go to these lengths to pretend to have a hand? I mean, for practical purposes I suppose there would be some advantages, but honestly something like this wouldn’t be much more dextrous than a stump, so it’s really just for show, isn’t it? For other people’s benefit.’

He paused and twirled the prosthetic around a little more. ‘I’ve got to confess, since last weekend I’ve been wondering, on and off, whether I should just get one for real,’ he went on. ‘Thought I’d wait until I saw this, before I decided. But the minute I looked at it, I knew. No way. From now on, the world gets Jaime Lannister, uncut. Or, y’know, cut. Let them make of that what they will. I’m done hiding behind who other people want me to be. I can do that when I’m acting. But not the rest of the time, not any more, Brienne. Am I making any sense at all?’

She nodded, tears in her eyes. ‘Perfect sense. I – I’m so proud of you, Jaime. I want you to know that.’

His face lit up like the sun. ‘Come and help me try it on?’ he asked huskily. ‘I’m going to have to start rehearsing with it, so the sooner the better. Actually I’m really glad it’s arrived before tomorrow, when we’re in costume for the first time. It’ll give Loras a chance to make any necessary adjustments. I’m sure he’ll be over the moon!’ he added with a sarcastic smirk.

Swallowing hard, she stood up and moved to stand in front of him. He passed the prosthetic to her, raised his right arm slightly, waited while she twisted the hand around a little to work out the best alignment, and then, very hesitantly, he slid his stump slowly into the padded fitting. He pulled it out, then tried again, wriggling it slightly, and then finally seemed to settle.

‘How does that feel?’ she asked after a moment.

‘Weird,’ he grunted.

‘Does it hurt?’ she enquired anxiously.

Jaime wriggled his arm around again. ‘No. It tickles a bit. The scar tissue’s pretty sensitive. Expect I’ll get used to it though.’ He smirked up at her. ‘This feels rather like déjà vu, wench, don’t you think?’

She frowned, then realised what he was referring to. ‘Oh – you mean, like when I measured you?’

He smiled again, his eyes warm and dark. ‘Exactly. Though a few things are a bit different, huh?’

Brienne looked him over with patient amusement, and said teasingly, ‘A few, yes. At least I can see your face this time.’

‘Is that all that’s changed, do you think, wench?’ he persisted, in a deeper voice than before.

She blushed and swallowed. ‘Well, I – I mean – there’s _that,’_ she managed to say at last, pointing to the prosthetic hand.

‘Ah. Yes.’ He smirked wickedly. ‘Can you... strap it on for me?’ he said, holding her gaze steadily.

‘Oh! Yes, of course, Jaime.’

Unthinking, she slipped one hand under his bare forearm and lifted it higher so that she could see the fastenings on the straps more closely. She struggled with them for a moment, but her fingers were too large and she needed both hands free.

‘You know, Loras is going to have to do this for you on the night,’ she tutted, sitting down next to him and pulling his arm into her lap so that the prosthetic could rest on her leg, palm upwards, before attacking the straps again. ‘It’s way too fiddly and I get flustered with costume changes and stuff like that,’ she prattled on. Jaime had gone very quiet. ‘Besides, I’m going to be far too busy with everything else to spend my time fumbling with your fastenings.’

‘Brienne.’

‘Hmm?’ she replied distractedly, leaning closer in a valiant effort to feed the final strap, the one that went around his bicep, through its loop. ‘There!’ she cried in triumph at last. ‘Finally. How does that feel to you now? Tell me if you want it any tighter.’

‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ breathed Jaime, and without warning he lurched forward, grabbing her round the waist with his left arm, the right still lying heavy in her lap, and pressed his lips firmly to hers.

Brienne froze, too thunderstruck to move or do or even feel anything. It wasn’t until he pulled away after a few brief seconds that she felt the blood and heat rush to the place where his lips had been. She gaped at him in wide-eyed shock and disbelief for what seemed like an eternity. His expression was unreadable and quite unlike anything she’d ever seen on his or anyone’s else’s face, for that matter.

‘Brienne’ – he said breathlessly at last, and then stopped.

The sound of his voice broke the spell which seemed to have turned her body and her brain to stone.

‘What – what did you do that for?’ she gasped out in a squeak which she barely recognised as her own.

‘What do you _think_ I did it for?’ he breathed, moving his left hand from the small of her back to touch her upper arm gently. ‘I _did_ it because I’ve been wanting to for weeks. I did it because I’ve been missing you desperately since Monday.’

‘M-Monday?’

‘Yes,’ he said, stroking her arm. ‘I wanted to take you out on another date, like I said, but I just can’t when I’ve got Roose hanging around the place, and I know you felt uncomfortable at the hotel, so that’s why I texted you the other night to explain. You’re impossible to flirt with by text, by the way.’

_Flirt?_ Another _date?_ Brienne’s mind was whirling, and before she could manage to formulate any coherent words or even thoughts, Jaime was leaning in and kissing her again. His lips were gentler this time, but more exploratory, moving slowly and softly over hers. This time she was fully aware, and it felt like heaven.

To her mortification, she heard herself emit a little involuntary whimper from the back of her throat. Jaime’s response was instantaneous. He gave a low growl and tugged her closer still. She felt his lips part slightly and his tongue start to tease gently at the closure of her own lips. Scarcely believing what was happening, and unable to control the trembling of her body, she let her mouth open and the tip of her tongue advance to touch his. It was at that moment that he raised his right arm from her lap to her face, and, having apparently completely forgotten about the new prosthetic which he had strapped to it, he hit her squarely on the underside of the chin with the wooden hand.

‘Ow!’ yelped Brienne, jumping away and rubbing her jaw. She tasted blood in her mouth where she had accidentally bitten down on the tip of her tongue.

‘Oh my gods, I’m sorry, Brienne, I’m so sorry!’ gasped Jaime, half laughing. ‘Are you okay?’

She touched her mouth and licked her lips experimentally. They felt hot and swollen, but she suspected that had nothing to do with the accidental punch in the jaw. ‘I – I’m okay.’

Jaime smiled sweetly and raised his real hand to her face and stroked her bottom lip with his thumb, making her suddenly aware of the incandescent heat engulfing her entire body, with its epicentre definitely somewhere low down. ‘Did you bite your lip?’ he crooned sympathetically. ‘Let me see it.’

‘My tongue,’ she corrected, darting it back and forth a few more times to check for damage, while attempting to wriggle out of his arms because it was suddenly all too overwhelming.

His eyes darkened. _‘Ohhh,_ well I can certainly make _that_ all better,’ he murmured suggestively with a waggle of his eyebrows, trying to lean in closer again.

This time she really pushed him away and stood up, pacing up and down in front of him, despite the fact that her legs felt like jelly. Her entire brain was reeling. _Jaime just kissed me. Jaime just_ kissed _me. He wants to kiss me again. What the fuck just happened?_

Abruptly, she stopped and turned on him. Her mouth opened and the words which came out of it were a surprise to her. ‘What the hell was going on with you and Ygritte at rehearsal yesterday?’ she blurted, blushing furiously.

He grinned delightedly, leapt up and moved towards her. ‘Oh, so you _did_ notice. I was trying to make you jealous, you silly wench.’

‘You were _what??!!’_

‘I was _trying,’_ he repeated deliberately, taking a step closer with each emphasised word, ‘to make _you. Jealous.’_

Brienne gawped at him as though he were speaking High Valyrian. _‘Why??’_ she asked eventually in total confusion.

‘Well – because’ – he ran his fingers through his hair, looking bemused – ‘frankly, I’d run out of other ideas as to how to make you notice me.’ Brienne blinked incredulously. ‘I’m – well, I’m _very_ out of practice at all this, and seriously, wench, you are hard work! I flirt with you and you either ignore it, think I’m joking, or pat me on the head like a puppy. I ask you on a date and you act like I’ve done you this massive favour. I swear I was one step away from getting a t-shirt printed up or hiring a team of skywriters! So I figured it was worth one last go at, y’know, putting the goods on display, so to speak, and showing you what you were missing. I knew I’d only have one shot before Catelyn called me out on it. Still, all’s well that ends well.’ He winked.

‘So... you draped yourself all over Ygritte and basically _wasted_ yesterday’s rehearsal, to _show me what I was missing?’_

‘Oh come on, I wouldn’t say it was _wasted_. One – you did notice. Two – Ygritte kindly informed me at the end that she’d already laid some groundwork with you for me last week– quite unbidden, I might add – jolly decent of her – so I finally decided to just go for it and tell you. I was on my way to find you when I saw Tyrion with you and Marge.’

‘Oh my _gods_ , Jaime, that is just _so_ – arrogant and so – so –so – _unprofessional!’_ she spluttered after a stunned silence. Then she felt her face crumpling with a rush of emotions in which she could no longer differentiate annoyance from dizzying joy and relief. ‘You’re such a jackass,’ she murmured softly through her coming tears.

‘And you have no idea just how damned adorable you are,’ he replied, gazing at her with burning affection as he pressed his forehead to hers. ‘Trying to keep me on the straight and narrow, even now.’

She longed to slip her arms around his neck but couldn’t pluck up the courage. Instead, they stayed like that for a moment, touching nowhere except for their foreheads and his hand gently resting on her right shoulder. She could feel the wooden hand bumping her hip. He moved his head and went to kiss her again, but a sudden sound from elsewhere in the building brought her to her senses.

‘Jaime,’ she breathed, pushing him off again. ‘Stop. Please. We can’t.’

He frowned. ‘What? Why not?’

‘Because we’re in the rehearsal room and people will be here soon.’

‘In thirty minutes, wench,’ he replied in a suggestive tone, glancing at the clock and advancing a step towards her once again.

‘No,’ she said firmly, pushing against his chest with both hands until he stepped back. ‘I promised Catelyn that we’d keep it out of the workplace.’

‘Really??’ exclaimed Jaime, his eyebrows ascending with interest. ‘And when exactly did you have this fascinating conversation with Catelyn about what _we_ were and were not going to do, Brienne? I’m all ears.’

She felt herself turn bright red. ‘On Monday,’ she answered sheepishly, glancing anxiously at the door. ‘She was – is – under the impression that we’re... _involved.’_

‘And aren’t we?’ he grinned.

‘Jaime!’ she hissed in frustration. ‘Gods, _please_ try to take this seriously, just for a second! Catelyn thinks – well – she thinks that we’re – well – you know – _doing it,’_ she finished in a whisper.

_‘Well_ now’ – he began, but she cut him off with a raised finger.

_‘Don’t_ say a word. You have no idea how much trouble you’ve caused me,’ she protested irritably. ‘You do realise that’s why she demoted me in the first place? Because she thought my professional judgement was being impaired by _our relationship._ And she’s probably right,’ she muttered glumly, apparently to his intense amusement and delight. ‘Gods, Jaime, _everyone_ thinks we’re doing it! Catelyn. Renly and Loras. Margaery. Your brother. Even your ridiculous builders were making suggestive comments to me about you the other day.’

Jaime’s face clouded with anger. ‘What? What did they say? I’ll fucking kill them!’

‘I have no idea what they said. I can’t understand a single word they say,’ she sighed. ‘It was more the _way_ they said it.’

‘I’ll fire the lot of them,’ he growled. ‘Right now. Nobody talks to you that way!’

She stepped in front of him and grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt, pulling him close until his nose was touching hers. ‘You will do no such thing,’ she hissed furiously. ‘I need a working auditorium by this time tomorrow, and a pristine, sparkling, VIP-gala-ready auditorium by one week from today, so you will say absolutely nothing to them, unless it’s to double their pay, and you will leave them alone to finish their work. Otherwise, when I’ve finished with you, it won’t be your family chandelier swinging from the rafters in there, Lannister - it’ll be you. Suspended by _this!’_ she concluded, twanging one of the leather straps on his prosthetic hand.

‘Okay, okay! I do love it when you get all angry and bossy,’ he said, and dived in playfully for a quick kiss before she could stop him. She smiled in spite of herself. ‘And I’m sorry about the thing with Catelyn. Look, I can be discreet. The last thing I want to do is jeopardise your job. You _know_ that, Brienne. I just can’t stand any more of this dancing around each other like there’s nothing going on here when we both know there is.’

Brienne pulled away again, somewhat reluctantly, and scrubbed her hands over her face. ‘Oh gods, I have no idea how to handle this, Jaime! It’s too much. Especially now!’

‘What do you mean, especially now?’

She shook her head incredulously. ‘Seriously? It really _is_ years since you worked in theatre, isn’t it?! In case you hadn’t noticed, we are currently poised to enter what is commonly known as “Hell Week”.’ She began to count off on her fingers. ‘Tomorrow – half dress rehearsal. Saturday – extra rehearsal. Sunday – day off, barring crises. Monday, all day – first tech rehearsal. Tuesday, all day – second tech rehearsal. Wednesday – _possibly_ a rest day, _if_ you’re very lucky. I say “you” because I don’t get rest days. Thursday - full dress rehearsal. Friday – opening night. _Opening night, Jaime!’_ she almost shouted, gripping his shoulders and shaking him for emphasis. ‘And as if all that weren’t enough, we’ve got the builders, and your fancy gala to rebirth you into the world as the beautiful new one-handed butterfly you are, and it’s not as though _the entire future of this theatre is resting on it_ , or anything! Plus, Catelyn’s stressed out, and your brother has taken it upon himself to hold Sansa’s future in his hands as well, so I mean – _especially now_ , Jaime! I can’t handle this – _you_ – before opening night! I just can’t!’

Jaime bit his lip. ‘So... you think I’m beautiful?’ he preened.

Her jaw dropped. ‘Really? That’s all you heard?’

‘That, and the fact that you’re going to _handle_ me on opening night.’ She hit him on the arm. ‘Ow! Okay, fine, I’m only teasing you, my wenchlet.’

‘And _stop_ calling me that!’

‘I’m sorry. Brienne.’ He slipped both arms around her waist again. ‘I really am only teasing you. You can’t blame me for feeling a _tiny_ bit smug and elated here. But I get it. I’ll behave, knuckle down, be professional. You’ll never have seen such professionalism! I promise. For you.’

She sighed. ‘Not for _me_ , Jaime. Don’t do things for _me.’_

‘For what then? The show?’

‘How about for yourself?’ she said softly, finally daring to raise both her hands to his shoulders, at least. ‘Prove it to _yourself_. You don’t need to prove anything to me, you know.’

He reached out and stroked her hair, his expression serious. ‘What _do_ I need to do? With you?’

She gulped, her heart pounding. _I just can’t allow myself to crumble and fall, not now._ _I don’t think I could survive._ ‘I – I’m not sure yet. Let’s get through this week and then see. Okay?’

She saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down. He searched her eyes, apparently about to say something, but changed his mind and simply nodded and said, ‘Okay.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, pulling away and walking towards the door. ‘I’d better go and get ready for this afternoon.’ The temptation to dart back and give him one last kiss was overwhelming, but she knew it would not only negate everything she had just said, but possibly lead who knew where. Her heart was still racing, and the fluttering in her stomach which she always got when she looked at him seemed to have doubled in intensity.

‘Hey,’ he said mischievously when she reached the door. ‘Aren’t you going to untie me, I mean unstrap me, wench?’

She scowled at him. ‘No. You said yourself, you need to get used to it and rehearse in it, so you may as well start now. _And’_ – she added rapidly when he opened his infuriating, divine mouth again, ‘I’ll send _Loras_ along at the end to help you out of it. He needs to practise too.’

‘You’re no fun,’ huffed Jaime fondly.

‘And _you_ promised to behave.’

‘Well, I’m a man of my word. Or at least, I’m trying.’

‘Yes,’ she teased. ‘You are. Very trying.’

‘You like it, wench. You like _me.’_ His grin was like the light of a thousand suns.

‘Oh, shut up and behave,’ she murmured, and slipped out of the door before he could see that her own smile was equally bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time - The Dress makes an appearance, and opening night is rapidly approaching!!
> 
> And yes, the emoji joke was deliberate. I'm sorry.


	13. The very essence of romance is uncertainty.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brienne comes face to face with her nemesis, Sam is starstruck, things get more complicated and a little steamier, and I am a terrible tease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, remember this story? :-)
> 
> I've been both gratified and mortified in equal measure to see it appearing on lists of 'recommended but abandoned' fics. Please rest assured that this is NOT by any means abandoned. I simply started a Masters course in September which has taken up all my time. I've taken advantage of a light week to knock this chapter out - and it's a much shorter one, so I apologise - and I plan to post the next one some time in December during the vacation - despite the fact that I have to write not only a long essay but an actual PLAY during the same period! Eeek! After that, there may be another long gap because next term has a heavier workload, apparently. 
> 
> I never anticipated when I began this that I would still be writing it more than a year later, but I guess that's what happens when your entire life changes. But I love writing this story, and I will continue it and I WILL finish it. You're just going to have to forgive me some more long hiatuses, I'm afraid. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and showed their continued support for this story. 
> 
> And no, we're not at smut yet, but it's happening SOON, I promise.

**_The very essence of romance is uncertainty._ **

****

Brienne turned anxiously from side to side in front of the mirrored wall in Loras’s studio, staring with dismay at the monstrosity of her reflexion in the long black dress.

Despite its careful reproduction of the figure-enhancing female tailoring of the era, it seemed to manage to make her form appear more masculine than ever. It painfully highlighted her lack of waist, while a modest bustle and large leg-of-mutton sleeves merely made her backside and shoulders look even more like those of a line-backer. In addition, black was most definitely not a good colour on her, robbing her face, brows and hair of what little colour they possessed and throwing up her freckles into sharp relief so that she resembled a chickenpox patient. Also, it was scratchy. She sighed.

‘See? It’s fine,’ said Loras in a tone of somewhat dubious reassurance. He moved to stand behind her and tweaked a little at the garment, watching in the mirror. ‘Hmm, the waist could do with a little more definition, perhaps. I wonder if I’ve got a corset here that’ll fit you.’

He bent and opened a drawer.

‘Oh gods, please, no!’ cried Brienne. ‘Surely it doesn’t matter what I look like? I’m not an actress. I’m only on in the blackouts anyway. I still don’t see why you couldn’t have dressed me as a manservant, like Sandor. Nobody would have known the difference.’

‘It’s a matter of authenticity,’ said Loras peevishly. ‘This isn’t a _pantomime._ At that time, wealthy households would have had maids. And even they would have worn’ -

‘No!’ she repeated. ‘I am not wearing a corset and that’s that. Sorry, Loras, but I draw the line. I’ve got to shift scenery in this. I need to be able to move around and bend over. And, you know, breathe.’

Loras huffed a little but closed the drawer. ‘At least put these on,’ he grunted, thrusting a handful of lace-trimmed white articles at her.

Slowly, she separated them and identified an apron, detachable lace cuffs, and a floppy-brimmed mob cap. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yes,’ he replied firmly. ‘Just for when you’re onstage. You can take them off when you need to be in full blacks backstage. That’s the idea behind the detachable cuffs. No arguments, Brienne. Sorry but I get seniority over you on this one.’

‘I’m the’ –

‘Stage Manager, yes, I know. But for these purposes, you’re also a stagehand, and this comes from the director. So take it up with Catelyn if you must, but it’s way too late in the day, as I’m sure I don’t need to remind you. If you don’t mind my saying, Brienne, a certain person’s diva-ish tendencies are rubbing off on you. Please don’t make my life any harder.’

Brienne blushed with contrition. ‘Gods, Loras, I’m sorry. I’m just stressed about today.’ Fighting back a grimace, she turned back to the mirror, put on the cap and held up the apron in front of her. ‘And even you have to admit that I look ridiculous.’

‘You – you look, um – capable?’

‘Of what? Terrifying small children? Warding off vampires?’

Loras laughed. ‘He’s doing wonders for your wit, as well,’ he chuckled, bringing another blush to her cheeks. ‘Now, what’s your shoe size?’ He bent under the desk and pulled towards him a large plastic crate labelled ‘Women’s boots’.

‘Forty-four.’

Loras looked up in mild alarm. ‘Shit, that’s bigger than mine. I don’t think I have any that large.’ He opened the crate and rummaged a little.

‘I could just wear my’ –

‘Brienne, if that sentence ends with the words “Doc Martens”, we are no longer friends,’ he said drily, without looking up from his task. She bit her lip shamefacedly. ‘Nope,’ he sighed, leaning a little further to the right to retrieve another crate labelled ‘Men’s period shoes’. ‘You’re just going to have to have something from here.’

‘Why am I not surprised?’ she muttered resignedly.

Loras glanced up and smirked.

‘Can I take this off now?’ Brienne asked with a sigh.

‘But it’s half-dress today.’

‘Precisely,’ she said. ‘Half. Which means that only the actors need to be in costume. I want to have a dry run at the scene changes without being hampered by… this.’

‘Don’t you think a costume run at it would make more sense?’

‘I’ve got the dress rehearsal for that. It’s not a priority today. Anyway, what are you suggesting – that I wander the corridors in it for the next two hours? People will think the circus has come to town.’

‘Fine, take it off. But I’ll be bringing it down this afternoon, along with everyone else’s.’

Brienne reached behind her and tugged down the concealed zip, turning her back so that she could shuck out of the top half of the dress and quickly pull her t-shirt back over her head while Loras’s eyes were averted. She reached for her jeans and pulled them on underneath the skirt, then finally wriggled the dress off. As she did so, she took in the other costumes hanging on the freestanding portable rails along the side of the room. Large pieces of card were taped to the top of the rail, dividing each person’s costume from the next, with the character’s name written in large letters in black marker pen.

The card at the front read ‘Jack’. Without thinking, she reached out and found herself fingering the suit which hung beneath it – an elegantly tailored, broad-shouldered, long frock coat in soft grey wool, with a matching waistcoat beneath, and a pair of trousers on a separate hanger. Next to these hung a pristine white shirt with a wing collar and a shiny, green, stage cravat with a ready-ruched front and a Velcro fastening at the back, slung around the neck of the hanger. She could see at a glance that the shade would bring out Jaime’s eyes perfectly.

Realising, belatedly, that Jaime hadn’t even tried his costume on yet, she withdrew her fingers with a blush and glanced anxiously over her shoulder in the hope that she had been unobserved. Fortunately, Loras was still busying himself with replacing unwanted shoes into the box. Brienne turned back to the costume rail, found her own card and hung up her dress. Then, with a frown, she looked again at Jaime’s waistcoat and shirt.

‘These have a lot of buttons, you know,’ she said, worried. Loras looked up. ‘Jaime’s costume,’ she clarified, trying hard to keep her tone of voice businesslike. ‘Are you sure we can’t find him a backstage dresser? He’s got two changes, both of them relatively quick, but so do other people and you need to be available for general assistance, at least for the first couple of nights, not tied to one actor.’

‘Angling for the job, Bri?’ teased Loras.

_‘No,_ I’m just trying to do what I’m supposed to do. Ensure everything runs like clockwork backstage.’

Loras smirked again. ‘Yeah, _right.’_ Brienne scowled. ‘Anyway,’ Loras continued, ‘no need to worry. Hodor has volunteered to help him.’

‘Hodor?’ she repeated in surprise.

‘Yep. He’s hardly onstage, so he’s got nothing to do except sit around the dressing room for most of the show, so we may as well make use of him. Plus it seems that he’s got some experience with such things. Apparently when he’s not acting, he takes care of disabled kids. Who knew?’

‘And Jaime’s okay with this?’

‘Well, he didn’t raise any vocal objections, which from him I take as agreement, no? You’d know better than me.’

‘I guess you’re right,’ she murmured uncertainly.

_Jaime._ She had been in a state of utter turmoil since the previous afternoon when he had blindsided her with his kiss and his subsequent unbelievable words. The mere thought of him turned her hot from head to toe – that was nothing unusual – but the new memory of his lips on hers, his arms around her, the blazing look in his eyes, all turned her stomach to jelly and rendered her breathless at the prospect of coming face to face with him again, especially publicly. However, she reflected glumly, almost twenty-four hours had elapsed since their encounter in the rehearsal room and he had made no attempt to contact her – bidding her a brief, friendly ‘Goodnight’ at the end of the previous day’s rehearsal. So, he had had plenty of time to change his mind and was probably even now regretting his actions and trying to find a way to wriggle out of it and let her down gently. She hoped he would be gentle about it, at least.

There was a brief knock on the door and Sansa’s copper head appeared around it, a frown troubling her porcelain brow. ‘Oh, you’re there!’ she said to Brienne, sounding relieved. ‘Hi, Loras.’

‘Hiya, Sansy-Baby. What’s up?’

‘Brienne, you’d better come,’ Sansa said anxiously. ‘My mum’s breathing fire.’

‘What is it?’ asked Brienne in consternation.

‘The builders. It seems there’s been some kind of… misunderstanding. Mr Lannister’s trying to sort it out now.’

Brienne gulped. ‘Where is he?’

‘In the auditorium. Are you free? Can you come down?’

‘Are we done here?’ Brienne asked Loras.

‘Well, you need to try on these shoes at some point,’ said Loras. ‘But this sounds more important. You go, I’ll catch you with them later.’

‘Ooh,’ said Sansa, moving into the room and trailing her hand along the reams of gaudy silks, ‘these are _gorgeous,_ Lor. Oh my _gods!’_ she squealed, catching sight of the costume rail. ‘Is this Marge’s? Oh gods, I am _so_ jealous. Please can I try it on? Please, please?’

‘Nobody will try on the actors’ costumes,’ snarled Brienne. ‘This is a professional company, not a kindergarten dressing-up box.’

Sansa’s eyes widened.

‘Oh, Brienne is “stressed”,’ explained Loras with a roll of his eyes. ‘But she’s also right. Hadn’t you better go and rescue your damsel in distress, Bri? Come here, Sansy, I want you to take a look at the make-up designs. You’re gonna help me out next week, right?’

‘Oh my gods _really?_ Yes of _course_ I will! Are you kidding me?’ Brienne heard Sansa say as she scowled and closed the door behind her.

An ominous clanging reached her ears as she entered the main theatre from the admin wing and approached the auditorium. Opening the rear door, she stopped short at the sight which met her. Far from being cleared up, the place looked even messier than yesterday, with what appeared to be a new delivery of some kind of beams taking up the entire area just below the stage. Workmen were scaling up and down the scaffolding at a furious pace, calling out to each other, while a persistent – and extremely loud – banging of hammer on metal was coming from high above her and echoing around the entire space.

In the centre of the room, a few feet away from the scaffolding tower, stood the foreman and Jaime, deep in heated conversation. She could hear nothing over the din, but the foreman was gesticulating angrily. Jaime had his back to her but she could discern his tension from the set of his shoulders and neck. After a moment or two, almost as though he had sensed her presence, he turned, blinked, said something to the foreman and quickly slid between two rows of seats to jog up to where she was, a worried look on his face.

‘Wench!’ he shouted over the noise.

‘What’s going on?’ she shouted back.

In response, he gripped her elbow, sending sparks shooting through her even from that innocent touch, and propelled her gently out into the foyer, kicking the door closed behind him so that they could hear each other a little.

‘How are you?’ he asked intensely, beginning to stroke her forearm with a finger before he appeared to think better of it and withdrew his hand, pushing it down firmly into his trouser pocket.

‘What?’ she asked, flustered and confused. ‘I – I’m fine. What’s going on in there? They were supposed to have it clear by this afternoon! Or clear enough for us to rehearse, anyway. In’ – she checked her watch – ‘an hour and a half’s time!’

He grimaced sympathetically. ‘Ah. Yes. Slight problem, wench. There seems to have been a, um, miscommunication. You know when you told them you needed it for Friday?’

‘Yes,’ she groaned, her heart sinking in anticipation.

‘Yeah, well, it seems they thought you meant _next_ Friday.’

‘But – that’s’ –

‘Opening night. Yeah. I told them.’

‘So did I!’ she protested. ‘I was _very_ clear on the timetable. There should have been no need for you to get involved.’

He grimaced again and gave a rueful chuckle. ‘Well, evidently, your latter statement is inaccurate, because they couldn’t understand your accent, apparently. You should have told me you were having trouble handling them _days_ ago and called me in to help. Did you think I’d object, or pull rank, or something?’

_‘They_ couldn’t understand _my_ accent??’ she repeated in disbelief. ‘And I was handling them perfectly fine, thank you. Or, at least I thought I was,’ she corrected with a deflated sigh. ‘All I want is to do this job well, and it never seems to go right.’

‘Now, wench,’ he said, taking a step towards her. He pulled his hand from his pocket and began rubbing her shoulder. ‘You’re doing an amazing job. You just need to stop being too proud to ask for help. Especially mine,’ he added in a heated tone which made her blush.

She stifled a groan, and took a step backwards before his proximity and the warmth of his hand could rob her of coherent thought.

‘So, what are we looking at here? How soon can they finish?’

He hesitated. ‘Well, I don’t think we’re going to be in there this afternoon. They’ve just received a consignment of reinforced steel joists which absolutely _have_ to go up, unless you want another chandelier on your head, or on the audience’s heads during a performance, which I’m assuming you don’t. I’ve convinced – read “bribed” – them to work through the weekend, so there’s not going to be a Saturday rehearsal on the set either. He reckons they might have the structural work finished by Wednesday, but then they still need to paint and make good.’ He shrugged in response to her appalled look. ‘Sorry, but he thought you were giving them more time, not less. Come on, cheer up, wench! It’s not _that_ much of a disaster.’

She gaped at him. ‘How, and in what universe, is this “not that much of a disaster”, Jaime?’

He grinned. ‘That’s the first time you’ve said my name today.’

_‘You_ haven’t said mine at all,’ she retorted with a scowl. ‘It’s still not “wench”, in case you’d forgotten.’

He shuffled closer. ‘I wasn’t sure I trusted myself to. _Brienne,_ ’ he murmured, deep and low, locking his eyes with hers as he trailed a finger lazily down her arm, finishing with a light caress across the back of her hand. Feeling her insides turn molten in an instant, Brienne let out a squeak and drew her hand away as though it had been burned. Jaime smirked and bit his lip.

‘H-h-how – um – what are we going to do about this?’ she stammered.

_‘This?’_ repeated Jaime mischievously, moving even more closely into her personal space, his gaze flicking between her eyes and her lips. ‘Well, I’ –

‘No, I – I meant – the builders,’ she protested feebly.

‘Oh.’ He stepped back, looking a little crestfallen, and shuffled his feet on the marble floor. ‘Well, what I propose is this. We take Monday as a rest day instead of Wednesday, do tech on Wednesday and Thursday, shift the gala to Saturday night, and make Friday a free preview-slash-dress-rehearsal.’

‘Just like that?!’

‘Why not? Half of the King’s Landing people were moaning about the gala being on Friday night anyway, according to Tyrion, because of travelling time. Having it on Saturday will be better all round. We’ll get a far better turnout from the press. It’s my fault for not thinking it through in the first place.’

‘What about the people who’ve already bought tickets for Friday?’

‘Offer them a free ticket for another night.’

‘Jaime!’ she objected in exasperation. ‘You seem to be forgetting that we aren’t exactly made of money here. The purpose of this show is to _save_ Winterfell from bankruptcy, not to hasten its arrival.’

‘And you seem to be forgetting that this is _my_ money at stake here too. Never underestimate the lure of the free ticket, Brienne. It fosters good will, and it pulls in audiences who might not otherwise come, and once they’re in, it’s easy to persuade them to come back.’

‘Says the man who hadn’t set foot in an actual theatre for twenty years.’

‘Says the man who’s hung around Tyrion for a lifetime. My father – now _he_ wouldn’t give away his own shit if he thought he could get someone to pay him for it. Doesn’t mean we’re all like that. Tyrion understands the difference between shrewd business sense and plain greed. He’s rubbed off on me, it would seem. Anyway, ask yourself this – what would Selwyn Tarth do?’

‘Oh, that’s a low blow, Jaime!’ she said with a smile.

‘Thank you,’ he said with an infuriating grin. ‘So, are you going to talk to Catelyn, or shall I? I should warn you, she’s mad as hell, but I’ve already shouldered all the blame for this, so don’t worry on that score.’

She blushed. ‘You really have to stop doing that, you know.’

He slung his right arm around her shoulders as they began to walk towards the door. ‘Do I?’ he mused, looking at her mock-seriously. ‘That’s too bad, wench. I rather enjoy coming to your rescue occasionally.’

Flushing even more, she ducked out from under his arm. ‘Jaime. Don’t.’

He ground his jaw slightly and was opening his mouth to speak when a voice from the opposite side of the foyer, where the box office was located, called, ‘Brienne!’

Instinctively taking a step even further away from Jaime, Brienne turned to see Sam Tarly puffing his way towards them. A mousy, brown-haired young woman was bringing up the rear, staring at Jaime with eyes like saucers. As she was out of uniform it took Brienne a moment to recognise her as Gilly, the server from the cafeteria. Sam finally reached them, bending over for a second to catch his breath, before excitedly brandishing a pair of tickets which he was clutching in his fist.

‘Hi, Sam.’

‘Hi, Brienne,’ he wheezed. ‘I just wanted to say thanks. You know, for getting me the free tickets.’

Jaime shot Brienne a meaningful look. She blushed again. ‘That’s quite all right, Sam,’ she replied, smiling. ‘Thank _you_ for getting those posters and programmes printed up so quickly. You know we couldn’t manage without you.’

‘Oh, it’s no trouble,’ he answered with an embarrassed laugh. He looked cautiously at Jaime. ‘I, um, that is to say, _we’_ – he corrected shyly, taking Gilly’s hand and pulling her forward slightly, ‘are really looking forward to coming to the show. Gilly’s never been to the theatre before, have you, Gilly?’

‘No,’ whispered Gilly, looking at the floor.

‘Gilly’s my girlfriend now,’ explained Sam in a voice full of pride.

‘Is that so?’ said Jaime, smirking and clearly trying to catch Brienne’s eye.

Sam nodded and addressed Jaime deferentially. ‘She’s a big fan of yours, you know. Aren’t you, Gilly?’ Gilly, looking mortified, failed to respond and stared resolutely at her feet. Sam chuckled indulgently and went on as though oblivious. ‘You know, I told her it was you weeks ago, but she didn’t believe me. Didn’t recognise you with the, um – you know.’ He gestured vaguely around his head and face to indicate Jaime’s former hairstyle and beard.

‘Ah,’ said Jaime with rueful amusement. ‘No.’

‘But here you are in the flesh!’ Sam continued merrily. ‘I told you,’ he said, turning to Gilly. She flicked her eyes up at Jaime, who grinned his ‘film star’ grin, causing Brienne to roll her eyes and Gilly to try to hide behind Sam’s shoulder. Sam chuckled again. ‘We really liked you in’ –

‘In _The Dornish Heist’_ , blurted Gilly suddenly, looking up.

A lightning-fast grimace, rapidly concealed, flashed across Jaime’s face. _‘The Dornish Heist?’_ he repeated in a slightly strained voice. ‘Really?’

Gilly nodded.

‘Yes!’ exclaimed Sam. ‘Hilarious! We were wondering, though, why’ –

‘Why wasn’t there a _Dornish Heist 2_?’ said Gilly.

Brienne saw muscles in Jaime’s face twitch in an obvious effort to prevent himself from saying something. Eventually, he waved his right arm expansively and said, ‘Oh, you know – um, timing, contracts, availability…’

Sam’s eyes locked onto Jaime’s stump. ‘Oh, right. Right, yes. I see,’ he said, embarrassed. He shot Gilly a look and clutched her hand miserably. ‘Sorry, I didn’t – I mean, _we_ didn’t mean to, um’ –

‘So, Jon tells me you’ve designed a computer game,’ said Jaime broadly. ‘Do tell me more. I’m fascinated.’

Sam’s face lit up. ‘Really?’

‘Absolutely.’ He was smiling warmly. Brienne’s heart flipped over.

‘Well,’ Sam began excitedly. ‘There are these dragons, you see, and there are also these zombies, only they’re not just any zombies – they’re _ice zombies_ – and kings, and a queen, and they fight each other – it’s complicated to summarise, really. We’re thinking of calling it either _War of Crowns_ , or _A Game of Snow and Flame_. What do you think?’

Jaime scratched his head. ‘Well, I, um’ –

‘Of course, it’s really just a prototype at the moment. A very basic prototype. I mean, we’ve got all the coding in place, but we’d really need money to get the graphics up to scratch before we could start sending it around to anyone. So I don’t imagine it’s ever really going to come to anything. We’re really proud of it though, and it’s been great fun to develop, especially working with Jon. He’s great.’

‘Sam,’ chastised Gilly gently.

‘Sorry,’ laughed Sam. ‘I, um, get a bit carried away.’

‘Not at all,’ said Jaime. ‘It’s important to be passionate about things.’ He glanced at Brienne with twinkling eyes, and then turned back to Sam. ‘Why don’t you, um, fire your stuff over my way some time and I’ll take a look? Maybe, um, after the show opens,’ he added hurriedly with another quick glance at Brienne. ‘I admit I’m no expert, but my brother’s a bit more in the know, and I’m always on the lookout for new things to invest in.’

Sam’s jaw dropped. ‘Did you say “invest”?’

Jaime grinned. ‘What kind of artist would I be if didn’t support my employees in their creative endeavours?’

‘Oh my goodness! Thank you! Yes, I will! Thank you so much!’ cried Sam incredulously. Gilly tugged on his arm. ‘Oh. Sorry. We’d, um – we’d better go. But thank you again.’

‘Yes, thank you. It was lovely to meet you,’ said Gilly shyly over her shoulder as she pulled Sam towards the door.

‘Likewise!’ called Jaime. ‘And don’t mention it!’

Brienne gazed at the back of his head in adoration. As soon as Sam and Gilly were gone, he spun on his heel to face her and said darkly, ‘The reason there was never a _Dornish Heist 2_ is that _The Dornish Heist_ was an execrable and preposterous film which I sincerely wish had never seen the light of day. They made even me wear one of those ridiculous dresses. I want you to swear to me by the old gods and the new that you will never, _ever_ watch it.’

She felt a grin spreading across her face. ‘You know you’ve just made me want to more than ever.’

He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Gods, I don’t know why I bother,’ he hissed teasingly through smirking lips. ‘Just for that, wench, _you’re_ telling Catelyn my plan. Come on.’

 

*******************************

Catelyn sat silently through Brienne’s somewhat stumbling, if defiant, speech, interspersed as it was with ‘helpful’ interjections from Jaime. Her eyes flicked wearily back and forth between their two faces as though she were watching a rather tired comedy double-act. Finally, she sighed.

‘Fine,’ she said resignedly.

Brienne and Jaime exchanged glances. ‘Fine?’ he repeated in surprise. ‘I’m sorry, did you say “Fine”?’

‘What else am I supposed to say?’ grunted Catelyn. ‘We can’t rehearse in a construction site. You say it won’t be a problem to reschedule the gala, and I bow to your greater knowledge of how things work in King’s Landing. Frankly, though, at this point I’m past caring. This whole production has been such a ridiculous roller-coaster ride that I’m starting to lose the will to live. I’ll be glad when it’s over.’ She heaved a huge sigh. ‘One thing, though – I’m not opening the doors for the dress rehearsal. It looks likely that’ll be the first time that the actors get to rehearse on the full set and in full costume – which is just _so_ unprofessional that I just can’t…’ She shook her head. ‘Anyway, I’m damned if I’m parading that for public scrutiny. We’ll rehearse in half-dress in the rehearsal room today, and on Monday. Take the weekend off as normal. If there’s any chance we can do tech on Tuesday, even a bit, then great. If not, then Friday is full dress rehearsal - no public, no press – and we open Saturday night, no matter what. We’ll rebook any presales as you suggest. Asha can handle that.’

The idea of leaving everything so late and of calling people to reschedule their bookings to another night brought Brienne out in a cold sweat. At least she didn’t have to do that part. Asha, fortunately, was not only fearless but infinitely less awkward about such matters than she would have been in that position.

‘Won’t it reflect badly on the theatre though?’ she asked in anguish. ‘Or on… this production, at least?’ The thought of all of their hard work coming to nothing, or of Jaime’s debut attracting any negative criticism whatsoever, made her want to weep.

‘You know what they say about no publicity being bad publicity, Brienne,’ drawled Jaime easily. ‘I’m walking proof of that, wouldn’t you say?’

To Brienne’s surprise, Catelyn actually cocked an eyebrow at that and gave a short snort of laughter. ‘For once, I can’t help but agree with you,’ she said drily. Jaime gave an evil grin. ‘Do I have your word that the building work is going to be properly overseen from now on?’ Catelyn went on pointedly. ‘I know it’s not your job, but…’

‘You have it upon my honour,’ answered Jaime gravely. ‘Though some might argue that’s not worth much,’ he added ruefully after a beat.

Catelyn sighed and regarded him with something approaching a smirk. ‘Well, I guess it’s just going to have to do, isn’t it? Same goes for you, Brienne,’ she added sternly.

Brienne nodded frantically. ‘Absolutely. I swear.’

‘Good.’ She sighed again. ‘Well then, let’s get back to work. For what it’s worth.’

Rehearsal was a tense affair once again. The announcement about the delaying of opening night, combined with working in costume for the first time, had put all of the actors on edge, adding to Brienne’s own jumpiness and _almost_ distracting her from how unbelievably handsome Jaime looked in his costume. Almost half of the entire afternoon seemed to be taken up with various grievances, ranging from Margaery’s complaints that her dress was insufficiently low cut (‘What do you expect when your brother makes it for you?’ snapped Renly), to Stannis wandering in and out of the room like an uninvited ghost, rumbling darkly about ‘lack of cohesion’ and ‘abuse of protocol’. Everyone mostly ignored him, but he looked at Brienne in a disappointed manner which made her rather fear that she – and probably Jaime too – had managed to destroy all the goodwill which they had built up with him. Only Jaime and Olenna seemed relatively sanguine about the whole business.

At the end of the session, everyone made a beeline for the door. Brienne was stacking chairs and generally doing a quick sweep of the room to check for abandoned items when she became aware of Jaime loitering in the doorway. She started slightly. He had changed out of his costume and was once again clad in the dark trousers and clinging sweater which he had worn that morning, with his leather jacket slung over his shoulder.

‘Hi,’ she said breathlessly.

He took a couple of steps into the room and regarded her in silence for a moment, making her more nervous than ever.

‘So… weekend off, after all,’ he said in a low voice, heavy with suggestion.

‘Um, yes. So it seems.’

‘Can I see you?’ he blurted suddenly in a pleading tone. ‘It doesn’t have to be – I mean, we can just have lunch or something, if that’s what you want. I’m just not sure I can get through two whole days. Gods, sorry,’ he said with an embarrassed smile, throwing his jacket across his right arm so that he could scrub at his face. ‘Sorry. I’m needy as fuck. Ignore me if you want. Sorry. I honestly don’t know whether I’m coming or going. I’m in a tailspin here.’

Brienne felt her mouth open and close like a fish but she could find no breath, let alone words. _Did he mean…? No, that wasn’t possible._ Eventually, she managed to stammer, ‘Wh-what about your tail of reporters?’

‘Pretty sure it’s still report _er_ , singular, wench,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’m yesterday’s news to everyone else, or hadn’t you figured that out yet?’

‘There’s a few of them hanging around the stage door every day. I’ve seen them.’

‘Oh, they’re local press. I’m the most famous person to come to Winterfell in quite a while, it seems. Gives them something to write about. Not a lot happens up here, does it? But I’m not about to get mobbed. Nobody really cares anymore.’

‘I think you’re underestimating yourself, Jaime,’ she said softly.

He gave a slow, almost shy smile. ‘And _I_ think you’re dodging my question.’

She felt her insides twist in an agony of indecision. She still hardly knew what to make of it. It was almost surreal to see him there in front of her, practically begging her to spend time with him. _He’s just lonely_ , she told herself. He himself had used the word ‘needy’. _It’s not about ME, specifically._ As much as she desperately wanted to say ‘yes’, she knew that if she did, her imagination would start to run away with her and she would get all kinds of false hopes up, only to find herself most likely crushed and broken and unable to do her job, as Catelyn had once predicted. Yet every time Jaime was around her, he seemed to be pushing closer and closer, and with every step she fell further and more out of control. _A tailspin. Yes, that was a very good way to describe it. Wait, what?_ She took a deep breath.

‘I’m, um – sorry, I’ve um, got plans this weekend,’ she said weakly. _Plans,_ echoed a voice in her head contemptuously. The only _plans_ she had involved doing laundry, going to the gym, and calling her dad. _Just like every other weekend. Is that all I want? For the rest of my life?_ But the thought of what Jaime might represent, of what starting something with him might actually lead to, terrified her. Gods, the look of earnest hurt in his eyes right now terrified her.

‘Oh,’ he said quietly. ‘I see. Okay. Sorry.’

‘I – I mean – and you need to get some rest,’ she added desperately, trying to soften the blow.

‘Just how old do you think I am, wench?’ he pouted indignantly.

She blushed. ‘Oh Jaime, I didn’t mean… It’s just that next week is going to be hard work, and I think we should both just focus on our jobs right now. Like I told you yesterday.’ She was aware of the increasingly reedy note of desperation and fear in her own voice.

He took a step forwards, reached out and pulled her towards him by the hand. ‘Brienne,’ he whispered fervently. ‘Please. If I’ve got this wrong – if you’re not feeling anything here – it’s okay. But please just tell me. Don’t torture me. Is that it? Look me in the eyes and tell me. I know you wouldn’t lie.’

Gulping, she met his eyes. They were dark and pleading – needy, yes, but with the promise of something warm, comforting and yet intoxicating. Something which she needed. Something which, may the gods help her, she wanted. She swallowed hard again.

‘No,’ she croaked. ‘No, that’s not it.’

His face relaxed visibly and he wrapped his arms around her. _‘What, then?’_ he whispered.

Brienne almost whimpered and found herself sagging against him. ‘I – I’m just _overwhelmed_ ,’ she whined. ‘Everything’s so stressful, and – _gods, Jaime_ – don’t you realise I can’t even _concentrate_ when you’re around?’

He leaned back, beaming. ‘I do that to you?’

Laughing, she rolled her eyes and hit him gently on the arm, embarrassed. ‘Idiot. Of course you do.’

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ he answered with a smug grin. ‘Thought it was just me.’

‘You promised me we could just get through Hell Week,’ she begged again.

‘Hmm,’ he murmured, nuzzling into her neck and causing her knees to almost completely give way. ‘That was before. Before I realised that once I’d opened these particular floodgates, there wasn’t going to be any shutting them.’

‘It was _yesterday’_ , she panted.

‘I move fast,’ he gasped in return, before covering her mouth with his.

This was quite unlike their tentative, exploratory kisses of the previous day. This kiss was full, deep and passionate – lips fused, tongues sparring frantically. She gripped his shoulders and the world melted away. She had never experienced anything like the lightning bolts of desire which shot through her, seemingly straight from her mouth to her groin. When they pulled apart, they were both wild-eyed and panting, and there was a deep throbbing at her core.

‘Jaime,’ she gasped involuntarily.

He growled and kissed her again, slower but no less passionately, his hand clasping her head tightly and his other arm wrapped possessively around her waist.

‘Gods, wench,’ he croaked gruffly when she had reluctantly broken away from him for the second time. He rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed, breathing raggedly. Brienne fought to regain control of her own breath, but it was difficult when they were still pressed close together. She could feel something digging into her stomach and almost stumbled in shock when she realised what it must be.

Finally, gently, she extricated herself from his arms. He opened his eyes and smiled at her, at once shy and predatory. There was a definite bulge in his pants which had not been there earlier. He saw her looking and grinned.

‘You see my problem?’ he quipped. ‘This is all your doing, wench.’

Hot as she already was, Brienne felt her face colouring deeper than it had possibly ever gone before. ‘That’s – that’s not’ – she spluttered. ‘I can hardly be held responsible for… _that!_ ’

Jaime’s eyes widened. ‘Oh right. Course not. It was… thinking about the builders which made me hard. Or… my lines. Or’ - his eyes shone wickedly as he pretended to cast about for another idea – ‘Stannis. Yup. That’s it. I’m hot for Stan the Man.’

_‘Jaime_. Shut up, you idiot,’ she laughed, mortified.

He bit his lip and grabbed her hand again. ‘Ooh, that’s twice you’ve called me an idiot in the past ten minutes. Is that the wench’s way of saying “I quite like you”, I wonder?’

‘I _will_ hit you, if you don’t stop being so insufferably smug.’

He pulled her to him again and deposited a heavy, sloppy kiss on her lips. ‘You are a cruel tyrantess.’

‘That’s not even a word, Jaime.’

He grinned. ‘So. What happens now? You really want to go with this “No funny business until opening night” rule?’

She took a step backwards and ran her hands through her hair. ‘I – I don’t know. Honestly Jaime, I feel like I’m stretched like a bow-string here.’

‘I know of a few _very_ good ways to relieve tension,’ he purred. She chewed her lip uncertainly. ‘And you doing _that_ isn’t helping mine,’ he said tersely. He sighed. ‘Look, Brienne, seriously. If you want to take this slow, it’s fine. I get it. Just… shut me down when I get too hot under the collar, okay? I can take it. Just knowing that you feel the same makes it a lot easier. I’m not known for being a patient man, but… I think you’re worth waiting for. I mean it.’

Brienne had never in her wildest dreams imagined a man saying such things to her – least of all a man like Jaime Lannister. _He’s just talking about sex, though_ , said her doubting voice. _Still, even that is incredible in itself. It’s enough. It’ll have to be._

‘Could we – could we just – text each other over the weekend, or something?’ she suggested, not wanting to shut him out, but still unable to wrap her mind around the idea of somehow fitting a _date – a date with Jaime, who had just kissed her brains clean out of her head and reduced her to a quivering, helpless jelly of sexual need and pathetic devotion –_ into her normally humdrum weekend.

He looked amused. ‘Sure. If that’s what you want.’ She hesitated, unsure whether he was simply humouring her, and realising too late that her suggestion probably sounded hopelessly teenaged and immature. Jaime frowned and stroked her face, pushing her hair from her forehead. ‘I’m serious,’ he said, as though reading her thoughts. ‘Whatever you want. You call the shots, Brienne. I’ll do whatever you want. Anything. Just be honest with me about what you’re feeling, that’s all I ask.’

_Oh gods, that’s the one thing I can’t do_ , she thought desperately. _If I did that, you’d run a mile._

‘Brienne?’ he asked searchingly, when she didn’t respond.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you, Jaime.’

 

 

 

 

 

 


	14. Relations are simply a tedious pack of people, who haven’t got the remotest knowledge of how to live, nor the smallest instinct about when to die.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne does girl-talk, an unexpected development causes a setback for Jaime, and opening night finally arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the brief interlude of the last chapter, we are back to monster chapters! I could have cut this, but frankly I felt the opening of the show had been delayed long enough and I really wanted to get there, so this is a big rollercoaster with lots happening. I will try to get another one out within the next month, but I've spent the best part of a week writing this instead of doing my university work, so I think I need to prioritise. There's plenty here to keep you going, though! 
> 
> A very Merry Christmas to all.

**_Relations are simply a tedious pack of people, who haven’t got the remotest knowledge of how to live, nor the smallest instinct about when to die._ **

****

Brienne’s attempts to hold a text message conversation with Jaime on Saturday went something like this:

_What u doing, wench?_

_My laundry._

_Ooh. R u naked? ;-)_

_No. Why would I be naked?_

_Because all your clothes are in the laundry?_

_No, Jaime. SOME of my clothes are in the laundry. Why would I wash all of my clothes at once so that I had to sit around naked? That would be stupid._

_But fun. ;-))_

_???_

_So what u wearing then?_

_Sweatpants and a t-shirt. Why?_

_Underwear?_

_What about it?_

_U wearing any??_

_Jaime! Yes of course I am._

_What colour?_

_This is a stupid conversation._

_On the contrary, wench, it’s one of the most fascinating conversations I’ve had in a while._

_You must talk to some very boring people then. Or some very odd ones._

_What does that say about you? Hmm?_

_I’ve got to go and put the softener in. I’ll talk to you later._

_[Laughing emoji] [Heart emoji] [Heart emoji]_

A similar exchange followed later when they had both been to the gym – Jaime’s texts mainly focussing on Brienne’s legs, his own muscular prowess, and what seemed to be a competition of his own invention as to which of them had got the sweatiest. Try as she might, Brienne could neither keep up with his flow of innuendo nor, it seemed, divert him into anything which might be considered a normal interaction when he was clearly in this kind of a mood. Or maybe he just always texted like that. He seemed to find her total inability to flirt absolutely hilarious, punctuating all of their exchanges with emojis registering various levels of amusement, from grins to tears of laughter.

With a sigh, Brienne switched her phone to silent, put it down on her kitchen counter and rubbed her temples. Truthfully, she was still reeling from the events of the past two days, barely able to wrap her mind around the fact that Jaime had kissed her – not once, not twice, but _four times_ , and in a way which left no question as to his intentions. He wanted her. The evidence of his… physical reaction was undeniable. A niggling doubt - that he was merely homing in on the nearest available female - plagued her, but the recollection of everything he had said, and everything which others had said to her about him, was doing a reasonable job of dispelling even that worry. She felt herself burning at the memory of his heart hammering in his chest as he pressed against her. His mouth hot on hers; his tongue probing, as she, equally undeniably, kissed him back; his strong arms wrapped tightly around her; his ragged breath, his dark, ravenous eyes, and… other things.

Swallowing hard, she briefly considered calling her father as a distraction, but thought better of it as she realised she was breathless from thinking about Jaime. She could hardly chat to her father in this state. Selwyn had been remarkably cagey in his enquiries into that particular topic, she reflected. He had, of course, been happy to learn that everything had been resolved after Brienne’s crisis call the previous weekend, but on the subject of Jaime, she had limited her revelations to an account of his return to the show and his decision to follow her advice regarding his disability. She had said nothing of the rapidly changing personal dynamics between them, and Selwyn had – pointedly, it seemed - not asked. Now was probably not the moment for that announcement. It could wait until tomorrow.

 _After all, what would I announce, anyway?_ she thought. _‘Hey Dad, guess what? I snogged Jaime Lannister! Pretty sure he wants to sleep with me! Great, huh?’ Um, no._ But what else was there? Bleakly, she reflected on her situation. She was desperately in love with Jaime, she knew. It was indisputable. He, on the other hand, was simply a man who, for some unknown reason, had taken a shine to her and was looking for sex. She was fairly sure he liked and trusted her as a friend, too, which was something, but there was still a vast gulf between what she felt and what would presumably be… some sort of temporary friends-with-benefits arrangement, she supposed – designed, in Jaime’s mind, to act as some sort of fun fling or at best a physical comfort for them both for the run of the show at Winterfell, only. Once it was over, he would go back to King’s Landing, out of her life, and back to a world in which she had no place.

She supposed that she should feel lucky that he would even look at her and consider such an arrangement with her at all – and on one level, she did, and was powerless to stop the thrill that ran through her whenever she thought about it. But it was always quickly followed by fear and the knowledge of the pain that would follow. Being with him, knowing she would simply have to let him go again, would be worse than never having him at all. Wouldn’t it?

She picked up her phone to check the time. She had, very reluctantly, agreed to go out on a ‘girls’ night’ with Sansa and Margaery. She wasn’t entirely sure what this entailed, but suspected it involved drinking cocktails and standing around – or worse, _dancing_ – in places where her height and looks tended to make her invisible to half the room and a source of unwelcome interest for the other. She had only given in to Sansa’s pleading out of guilt over the fact that she’d told Jaime she had ‘plans’, thus making her feel obliged to actually concoct some.

There were eight new texts from Jaime, the first four of which were a continuation of a conversation which they’d been having about swordfighting, and the second four of which read: _Wench, are you there? Wench? Wench? Brienne, are you okay?_

She inhaled and typed, _Yes, I’m fine. I’m just getting ready to go out with Marge and Sansa. And btw did I mention I’m trained in stage combat?_

_OMG REALLY???!!!!_

_Really, which? I’m really going out, or I’m really a trained stage fighter? Yes, to both. There was this stage-fighting expert called Goodwin in my Dad’s group when I was 13. I got fascinated watching him do it and asked if he could teach me. It was cool._

_Are you kidding me?? I totally LOVED stage combat in drama school! I was good at it too. OMG COULD YOU_ _RETRAIN ME?? To do it left handed? If I’m serious about going back on the stage, I’m gonna need to learn. I wouldn’t need to be good, just competent. Please???_

Brienne put the phone down again. Train him in stage combat? When exactly was she supposed to do that? Maybe there would be time on Sundays and Mondays once the show got underway. She couldn’t deny that the idea excited her, but on the other hand, it meant spending even _more_ time with Jaime, which was… what she wanted more than anything on earth. But also a bad idea. _When did life get so complicated?_ she wondered. But really, she knew the answer to that already.

Sighing again, she walked into her bedroom and opened the wardrobe dispiritedly. She hated dressing up, and Catelyn had casually mentioned in passing yesterday that everyone was expected to dress formally for the opening night gala next weekend. Brienne had protested that she would be in costume for the show and had assumed that she would simply change into her normal backstage blacks afterwards, but Catelyn had been adamant. All staff were expected to attend the after-party, and all staff were to wear, if not actual black tie, then at least some type of formal party attire.

For Brienne, this was merely another added level of horror after the nightmare of Loras’s housemaid dress. She pulled out the dress from her uncle’s funeral. It would have to suffice. Which left her with very few options for tonight. The blue shirt which she had worn for her ‘date’ with Jaime ( _no_ , she corrected herself, _it had actually been a date, it seemed_ ) was still hanging on the wardrobe door. She found herself sniffing it - not for signs of her own sweat, but to see whether it smelled like Jaime - before catching herself and quickly stopping in the embarrassed realisation that he had done no more than casually touch her arm when she had it on.

Anyway, it smelled passable, so she slipped it on and buttoned it, then, after a moment’s thought, she put on dark jeans and a pair of loafers, and surveyed her reflection with habitual distaste. With any luck, this outfit might succeed in getting her denied entry to whatever fancy place Margaery and Sansa were going, and she could come home, curl up with a book and _not_ think about Jaime. Again.

******************************

An hour or so later, she found herself sitting with Sansa and Margaery in a large, noisy, glittery bar in one of Winterfell’s converted bank buildings. Apparently, despite its pretentiously swanky appearance, this place had no dress code. They had picked it specifically with her in mind, Sansa told her kindly. Brienne gave a wan smile and tried to sink down into her seat in the too-small booth, while Sansa sipped excitedly at a very pink drink and Margaery’s eyes ran rapid circuits of the room, taking in Brienne’s shirt with interest.

‘Oh my GODS, I can’t _believe_ I’m going to King’s Landing to train as a make-up artist!’ exclaimed Sansa, for about the eighth time that evening so far. ‘It’s so exciting! And Loras is going to let me put the photos from this show in my portfolio! Even though they’re technically his designs. But still. He’s so nice! You’re so lucky to have such a lovely brother, Marge. My brothers are horrible little pains. Well, my big brother Robb’s okay. But he doesn’t live at home anymore. But I guess _I_ won’t be, either, soon. Oh my GODS I’m going to have to find a flat in King’s Landing! That’s so scary! But sooo exciting! Or did your boyfriend say he’d find somewhere for me, Marge? I can’t remember! I’m just so excited, it’s all, like, a blur right now!’

‘I have three brothers and Loras is actually the most annoying one,’ said Margaery laconically. ‘And Tyrion and I don’t use labels like “boyfriend” and “girlfriend”. But yeah, I think he said accommodation was included.’

‘Oh my _gods!’_ breathed Sansa, taking a loud drink through her straw. ‘Can he find me, I dunno, some kind of, like, _loft_ or something? You know, like, urban chic? That would be _so_ cool!’

‘Sansa,’ admonished Brienne. ‘If someone says they’re going to provide accommodation for you, I think it’s usually up to them to choose what that consists of. Besides, I’m sure the budget isn’t, you know, unlimited.’

‘Actually, it probably pretty much is,’ put in Margaery. ‘Lannisters, remember?’

Brienne felt her face grow hot at the name. With a sudden rush of guilt, she remembered that she hadn’t replied to Jaime’s last text. She reached into her jacket and pulled out her phone.

‘And do I get, like, all my materials included too?’ Sansa was saying.

Brienne quickly pulled up her text messages, re-read Jaime’s message about training him in stage combat, and surreptitiously typed a short response.

 _If we have time after the show starts,_ she wrote. _And you’ll be good by the time I’ve finished with you._

‘I’m not sure, Sans, you need to talk to Tyrion a bit more,’ said Margaery. ‘ _Sensibly_.’

‘Anyway,’ said Brienne, trying hard to pretend she hadn’t dropped out of the conversation to text Jaime, ‘aren’t you getting a bit carried away? Wasn’t there a stipulation that the show had to be successful before you got this internship, Sansa? You shouldn’t jump the gun like this. You might end up disappointed.’

‘Oh, I don’t think Tyrion will hold anyone to that,’ said Margaery airily. ‘That was just his hook to get Jaime in, you know? But it _is_ going to be a success, anyway, Brienne, so it’s not an issue!’

Brienne’s phone beeped loudly. Sansa and Margaery both looked at it in surprise. Embarrassed, Brienne swiped the screen and read.

Jaime’s reply was a long, rambling paragraph riddled with wild autocorrections, but the general gist of which was clearly to use swordfighting as a none-too-subtle metaphor for sex, and finishing up by quoting her line back to her. _And you BET I’ll be good, wench. Especially by the time I’VE finished with YOU!_ This was followed by a long line of explicit emojis which left his meaning in no doubt.

Brienne felt her face turn crimson.

‘Who are you texting?’ asked Sansa innocently.

‘Oh – ah – no-one,’ mumbled Brienne. She tried to stuff her phone into her pocket, fumbled, failed, and replaced it sheepishly on the table.

Margaery pulled out her purse and produced a twenty-dragon note, which she handed to Sansa.

‘Sans,’ she said, ‘be a darling and go up to the bar and get me another one of these, will you? And Brienne will have a large pitcher of something with a lot of ice in it. She’s looking a little flushed.’

‘Oh, no, I – um’ – stammered Brienne, but was silenced by a look from Margaery.

‘Oh! Sure,’ said Sansa, rising and taking the money. ‘I really want another one of these, anyway. It’s yummy.’

‘It’s on me, hon,’ said Margaery. When Sansa was out of earshot, she sat back in her seat, sipped her drink, and nodded towards Brienne’s phone with a smirk. ‘So. You and _No-One_ seem to be getting along rather well. What’s the latest? Any developments?’

Brienne opened her mouth to deny any knowledge of Margaery’s meaning, but was suddenly overwhelmed by a need to share her torment with someone. Margaery’s brown eyes were twinkling, but not unkindly. _Who else can I talk to about this?_ Brienne thought. _Besides, she’s practically Jaime’s family._ She took a deep breath.

‘Marge, can I tell you something in confidence?’ she asked, miserable with shyness. She _never_ did girl-talk and it felt very strange.

Margaery leaned forward. ‘Of course.’

‘I – that is, he – we – I mean – Jaime kissed me,’ Brienne blurted, glancing rapidly over her shoulder to check that she couldn’t be overheard.

Margaery’s eyebrow shot up. _‘Once??’_

Brienne blushed, looked down at the table and shook her head.

‘Tongue or no tongue?’

‘ _Marge!_ … Um, yes. I mean - tongue. Um. Very much so, yes,’ she muttered, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her.

‘Ooohhh, well, that _is_ a development!’ grinned Margaery. _‘And?’_

‘And what?’

‘How was it? Was he handsy? Anything _below_ _the waist?_ ’

Brienne was sure her face was glowing. ‘It – it was good. But, um – I – he didn’t – _touch_ me – you know – if – if that’s what you mean. But he did, um – there was, um – he had, um – _you know.’_ Margaery’s eyebrow crept higher. ‘Gods, Marge, don’t make me say the actual word!’ Still she waited. Brienne took another deep breath and closed her eyes. ‘There were _developments_ in the below-the-waist department. For him. I mean – a, um, _large…_ indication of interest. That’s all.’

She waited a moment with her eyes closed for Margaery’s response, but none was forthcoming, so she tentatively opened one eye to find the other woman regarding her appraisingly. She opened the other eye.

‘Well,’ said Margaery in a more serious tone. ‘How do you feel about that?’

Brienne let out a breath. ‘I – I’m not sure. I mean – it’s kind of incredible to me.’

‘Why?’

‘Gods, Marge. Look at me! I’m not… Guys never show any interest in me. Ever. And a guy like’ – she took another quick glance around and whispered it – _‘Jaime_ … Well, I’m hardly the type that someone like him would go for, am I?’

‘What, just because he’s good-looking and famous, he has to be attracted to a certain type of woman? How does that even make sense?’

Brienne shrugged helplessly.

‘Anyway,’ Margaery went on, ‘that wasn’t actually what I meant. From what you say, it doesn’t sound like his attraction to you is in any doubt, does it? I meant, how do _you_ feel? Is the feeling mutual?’

‘Oh.’ It was a small, breathy sound which escaped her. ‘Yes. I mean…’ She broke off, sighed and corrected herself. ‘No, I mean “yes”. But, I’m... worried, Marge.’

‘What about?’

‘I just have no experience with this sort of thing,’ she almost whined. ‘All I know is I don’t think I can have a… _fling_ or something with him. I – I think I’m in too deep. Already. No, I know I am.’ She paused. ‘It’s okay, you can tell me I’m an idiot. Catelyn pretty much already did, weeks ago.’

Margaery regarded her for a moment. ‘Why would that make you an idiot?’

‘Gods. It’s textbook, isn’t it? The young, naïve female crew member seduced by the older leading actor? And then no doubt abandoned after he’s had his way with me and moved on to the next conquest.’

Margaery laughed. ‘Well, you got one part right,’ she said. ‘You’re naïve.’ She paused and took a sip. ‘Brienne, do you remember what Jaime said, that very first day at the read-through?’

Brienne frowned. ‘He said a lot of very rude things, if I recall correctly.’

‘Well, yes. But I was thinking of one in particular. He said “There are no actors like me. Only me.” Do you remember that?’

She nodded.

‘Well?’ said Margaery. ‘That about sums him up, wouldn’t you say?’ Brienne shrugged in agreement, unable to prevent a half-smile from ghosting her lips. Margaery leaned closer. ‘Jaime is no playboy, Brienne. I’ve known him for two years and he’s never so much as looked at a woman.’

‘He was depressed.’

‘You forget. Tyrion tells me stuff. He says Jaime barely dated, even before his accident, and he avoids one-night stands like the grey plague. According to Tyrion, he’s hopelessly romantic and just super, super picky.’

Brienne started to bridle at what she assumed was an insult, before the import of Margaery’s words sank in. She blinked. ‘You – you mean, he’s picky… but he picked _me?’_

‘By George, I think she’s got it.’ Margaery sat back and folded her arms, smirking in triumph. ‘So what happened after this mega-kiss of yours?’

Brienne thought her heart may have stopped beating. ‘What?’ she said, dazed. ‘Oh – ah – I – um… I told him that we had to wait until after opening night. Because of… I don’t know. The show, and stress, and stuff.’ It sounded lame to her own ears even as she said it. ‘That was the day before yesterday. Then yesterday he kissed me some more, and then I said the same thing again, more or less. He – he was nice about it. He said I was worth waiting for.’

Margaery tilted her head. ‘Well, there you go. Hardly textbook seducer material, is he? But you might want to watch out that you don’t push him away with that “go-away-come-closer” thing you’re doing.’

‘I’m not _doing_ any _thing!_ I don’t think I’d know how to do a _thing_ if I tried!’

‘Maybe not intentionally. But look at it from Jaime’s perspective. Men are simple souls, Brienne. We need to tell them how we’re feeling, or they’ll never get it. He probably has no idea at all where he stands with you.’

Brienne frowned, trying to absorb this new hypothesis. ‘Just – just _tell him?!’_ she echoed, horrified.

‘Yeah, why not?’

‘What if he rejects me? Or - you know – gets scared off, or something? And in any case, this is crazy,’ she said, slumping in sudden realisation. ‘Sometimes I forget who he is. I mean, _what_ he is. I can’t _date_ a movie star! That’s just… ridiculous. And – beyond terrifying. I mean, seriously, Marge, can you see me on the cover of some magazine? I’d be a laughing stock, and so would he.’

‘Brienne,’ said Margaery earnestly, ‘you need to decide what’s most important to you. If you don’t want media attention, that’s understandable.’

Brienne snorted in disbelief that anyone would even say such a sentence to her.

‘But let me tell you one thing,’ Margaery continued in the same tone. ‘Looks are no protection. I told you what it was like for me when I was on _FleaBottom_. The media will find _something_ to get at you about, no matter what you look like, who you date, or what you do. Look at what Jaime’s been through with them. If he’s not immune, then none of us are. The difference is in how you deal with it. I consider myself fairly well-adjusted, but even I got paranoid about my weight when I was seeing my picture in the paper every day. And I can’t promise that when I get older, I won’t succumb to vanity and get a little work done, you know? You, on the other hand… Well, I realise I don’t know you very well, but you seem to be brave, and true to yourself. That’s half the battle, I think. That’s where Jaime fell down for a long time. But you’ve shown him the way forward. Don’t underestimate yourself. I think you’re exactly what he needs. Tyrion thinks so too.’

Brienne glanced up and saw Sansa returning from the bar with their drinks and pushing her way through the crowds. She blinked away a tear.

‘I thought you both just wanted to get Jaime laid, to cheer him up?’ she muttered.

‘Well, maybe at first that’s what we thought,’ Margaery admitted with a smile. ‘But as Tyrion says, he should have banked on Jaime being Jaime. Never does anything by halves.’

Brienne sighed. ‘I don’t know, Marge. I’m terrified. I can’t take this in, let alone decide what I want.’

 _‘Talk. To. Him._ Then at least you get to make an informed decision, right?’

‘An informed decision about what?’ asked Sansa, reaching the table and setting down their glasses and Margaery’s change.

‘Wallpaper,’ said Margaery. ‘To have or not to have – the modern decorator’s dilemma. Right, Brienne?’

Brienne opened and closed her mouth a couple of times.

Sansa sat down with a bump and took an oblivious slurp of her nauseating-looking concoction.

‘Oh my _gods!’_ she exclaimed. ‘Do you think I’ll be allowed to decorate my own place? That would be _so_ awesome!’

**************************************

This conversation replayed on a loop in Brienne’s head over the next twenty-four hours until she could take no more. The idea of accosting Jaime and attempting to initiate some kind of serious conversation about _feelings_ was completely outside her frame of reference. She had no idea how she would even begin. Eventually, she decided to banish the thoughts and revert to her default setting of concentrating on work.

It wasn’t hard. There was so much to do that week in preparation for opening night that, fortunately, there was little time available for brooding. The building work was thankfully now on track, which meant that they were able to hold the two tech rehearsals, as scheduled, in the auditorium, albeit with the scaffolding tower still in place and dust sheets over the set, as the workmen did their best to paint the ceiling in silence.

Jaime, she was glad to see, seemed to be as good as his word and stayed mostly out of her way at the theatre. She caught him staring at her quite a bit as she stood out front during the tech, and whenever she met his eye he grinned and bit his lip – and, on one occasion, he threw her a positively filthy wink which she was petrified that Catelyn had also seen – but he made no more actual overtures to her or any attempts to corner her alone, for which she was both sorry and intensely grateful. Margaery kept catching her eye and waggling her eyebrows meaningfully, but Brienne scowled at her until, finally, she stopped.

By some miracle, on Friday afternoon Brienne found herself standing, dressed in her costume, on the completed set in a newly pristine auditorium, heavy with the odour of fresh paint and with the Lannister chandelier winking down from above. _We did it,_ she thought, gazing upwards in wonder. _Against all odds, we finally got here._

She turned at a noise from behind her, to see Jaime standing in the upstage doorway, apparently doubled over with laughter.

‘Oh my gods, wench, what have they got you wearing?!’ he wheezed hysterically.

To her dismay, Brienne felt tears stinging the backs of her eyes. This was the first time she’d been even remotely alone with him since their kiss the previous week, and him making fun of her was not exactly how she’d envisaged their next encounter.

‘Shut up,’ she said fiercely.

‘Oh come on. I didn’t know you were going to be in costume. It’s funny! What are you meant to be, anyway?’ He was still chuckling.

‘A housemaid. _Obviously,_ ’ she replied through gritted teeth. ‘Stagehands dress as servants in period productions. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.’

‘Yes, but’ – catching her expression, he broke off and wiped away tears of laughter with his cuff. ‘Oh come on, wench. I’m sorry. You just look so’ –

Brienne had to bite her lip hard to prevent herself from crying. After a week of avoiding him, tamping down her feelings, and trying not to think about everything Margaery had said to her at the weekend, suddenly she was close to breaking point. All the stresses of the week, and her vulnerability in the costume, had left her wanting comfort – comfort from _him_ , she realised. Not mockery. It was as though he had stabbed her in the gut. _How could I possibly have been imagining that he cared about me?_ she thought. _Margaery has no idea what she’s talking about. He’s just the same as all the others, after all._

She took two steps towards him and hissed into his face. ‘Do. Not. Mock. Me.’

Jaime’s eyes widened in horror. ‘Brienne. Gods, I’m’ –

She stepped back and set her jaw.

‘Just save it, Jaime. We’ve got a dress rehearsal to do. Please would you go and get into costume? I’m coming to give a thirty-minute call, right now.’ She turned and began to stomp off the stage in the direction of the backstage area.

‘Brienne, for fuck’s sake!’ He reached out and grabbed her arm as she passed him. ‘I’m just trying to – I was going to say you look _cute_ , for the love of the Seven! I’ve – I’m – fucking hells, you haven’t spoken to me all week, except to give me cues. I’m dying here!’ She stopped in her tracks. He gripped her forearm, staring into her eyes, and lowered his voice. ‘We need to talk,’ he said, with a glance through the stage exit over her shoulder.

 _Oh. There it was._ Brienne didn’t need to know much about relationships to recognise the most dreaded sentence in the common tongue. Evidently, Jaime had thought better of whatever notions he might have had about her and wanted to clear things up before opening night. It was probably for the best, but that still didn’t mean that she relished the prospect of the conversation. Still, on balance it was less terrifying than the _other_ conversation which Margaery had wanted her to have with him. She took a deep breath.

‘It’s okay, Jaime. Please can we not do this now? Seriously, we’re going up in thirty minutes. You need to get ready.’

He dropped her arm and his gaze clouded ominously. ‘Fine,’ he growled. ‘But I’m calling you later. I’ve had enough of this.’

With a curt nod, she left the stage.

******************************

Predictably, the dress rehearsal was a disaster.

The stage was considerably bigger than the rehearsal room where they had been working, and despite Brienne’s best efforts _and_ the cue-to-cue work which they had been doing on the stage for the past two days, the new dimensions, with full set and costumes for the first time, threw everyone’s timings out. Several entrances were mistimed, which caused a knock-on effect of irritability and fluffed lines. To make matters worse, Jaime kept knocking things over with his prosthetic hand, and his mood worsened noticeably as the afternoon progressed. By the end, everyone’s temper was frayed, Catelyn was pulling her hair out, and nobody was the slightest bit surprised when she announced a second, emergency dress rehearsal the following afternoon at two o’clock.

Brienne was happy to get home and run herself a hot bath. She was just getting dressed again when her phone rang. _Jaime. Oh gods, this is it._ Bracing herself, she picked up.

‘Hi,’ she answered, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.

‘I am _livid_ ,’ he growled without preamble.

‘What? Why? Wh- what did I do?’ she stammered, horrified.

‘Oh gods, not _you_ , wench. No, gods, I’m sorry, I can’t – There’s an emergency. And it’s all this _bastard_ here’s fault. He knew about it and didn’t tell me. I’m currently punishing him by withholding liquor. I was wondering whether you could help me to level-up by persuading Margaery to withhold sex.’

‘Tyrion?’ she asked in confusion.

‘Oh, is that his name?’ said Jaime with biting sarcasm. ‘I thought it was “Insensitive Little Shit”. My mistake.’

Tyrion’s voice spoke up in the background. ‘…for your own good and you fucking know it, you wanker,’ she heard.

‘What on earth is going on there?’ she interrupted before this sibling squabble could deteriorate further.

There was a momentary pause while Jaime exhaled and growled a little. ‘Guess – just fucking _guess_ – who is going to be on _The Varys Show_ tonight,’ he ground out eventually.

‘I – I’ve no idea.’

He huffed some more. _‘Daenerys Targaryen,’_ he spat bitterly at last.

Brienne’s mind raced wildly. _‘Who?’_

‘Daenerys Targaryen,’ he repeated, sounding defeated. ‘Aerys’s youngest daughter. She’s about your age. He remarried late in life and had a second family. She’d have been a toddler when he – when I – when he – you know.’

‘Oh,’ she breathed, trying to take this information in. ‘But – I mean – who _is_ she? Why is she on _The Varys Show_? What does she do?’

‘She’s an actress. Of sorts, anyway. She’s been a big star in Essosi cinema for a good few years now.’

‘What, you mean those films where they’re always bursting into song and dance in the middle of the street and they’re never allowed to kiss?’

‘That’s the stuff.’

‘I’ve never heard of her,’ said Brienne.

‘Well, to be fair, wench, you’d barely heard of _me_ ,’ he retorted with a hint of his usual humour. ‘She’s huge over there. One of the few Westerosi to ever break into that industry. Doesn’t work under her own name there though. Calls herself “Dany Stormborn”, if you please. But now she’s apparently decided that she wants to “conquer Westeros”, so suddenly it’s all “Targaryen” again so that she can “reclaim her fucking birthright” or some such shit. Basically she’s over here promoting her brand new, first ever Westerosi film, which opens – oh yes, you guessed it – _tomorrow night_ , and I am _screwed_ , Brienne. Thoroughly and completely screwed.’

‘Sorry,’ Brienne said, ‘I don’t quite understand. What does this have to do with you and why are you mad at Tyrion?’

‘Seven hells, wench. It has _to do_ with me because anywhere the name “Aerys Targaryen” goes, mine is being dragged through the mud somewhere very close behind it. Also, Varys hates me. And I’m mad at Shitface here because he _knew_ about her film and he knew about her going on the show tonight and he didn’t fucking tell me until _now_ , when it’s too late for me to do anything about it!’

‘…fucking Seven, Jaime, it’s not like you were going to go on…’ piped up Tyrion exasperatedly again.

‘Oh! Oh yeah!’ laughed Jaime bitterly. ‘Get this. It seems they actually wanted _me_ to go on the show _with_ her. That would have been a bundle of laughs, wouldn’t it? Just picture it. “Oh hello, girl I’ve never met before. I’m the guy who accidentally deprived you of a father. Um, sorry about that, but hey, he was crazy anyway soooo… no hard feelings? So nice to meet you on _live fucking television.”_ Give me a fucking break. These people have no soul.’

‘Jaime’ – she began, trying to calm him.

‘Tyrion says she’s just surrounded by a bunch of sycophants who’ve convinced her she’s about to become the fucking saviour of the Westerosi film industry,’ he went on, not listening. ‘But, she’s young and pretty. The media are already creaming themselves over her, it appears, which means _I_ get to play the part of the old, crippled, villain again, without any hope of defending myself. Just when I _least_ need that kind of publicity.’

‘I thought you said all publicity was good publicity,’ Brienne said, a little sharply. He sounded as though he was heading into a spiral of negativity and she was anxious to deflect it.

‘Huh,’ he snorted contemptuously. ‘Not for me, in the case of anything involving Aerys. I’m just so fucking sick of it, Brienne. It’s like I’m never going to be free of it. Never!’

‘Now you listen to me,’ she said sternly. ‘This is insane! You can’t be expected to keep answering for a crime which you were acquitted of, _decades_ ago. You have nothing to be ashamed of, Jaime. As for the timing – well, yes, it’s unfortunate, perhaps, but really there’s no reason why this woman’s film coming out should have any impact on your stage debut. They’re two completely unconnected events. On the other hand, _if_ what you say is true, it _might_ be good publicity, you know? At the very least, it might arouse enough interest in you to push the reviews up from the “provincial theatre” sections to the main arts pages, mightn’t it? Even get your name trending a bit?’

He snorted again. ‘Oh, so I can be crucified publicly, you mean? Instead of affording me the dignity of dying quietly on the back pages? Hey!’ he exclaimed suddenly in protest. There were sounds of a fumbling scuffle and then Tyrion’s voice came on the phone.

‘Brienne?’ he said in a businesslike tone. ‘It’s Tyrion. Will you please tell my moaning drama queen of a brother that he is being a complete and utter idiot, _as per usual_ , and that the reason I didn’t tell him about Daenerys being on tonight was a) I only found out three days ago, and b) I _knew_ he’d be like this and I was afraid he would do something impetuous and stupid, like insist on putting out a statement before we hear what she has to say.’

‘I don’t want to hear what she has to say!’ yelled Jaime. ‘Give me back my phone, you little’ –

‘Which brings me to my point, Brienne,’ continued Tyrion smoothly. ‘Jaime absolutely refuses to watch it, or to let me watch it, he’s hidden the TV remote and he’s holding my minibar to ransom. I know this is probably an imposition, tonight of all nights, but would you mind terribly helping us out by watching it and reporting back? I know I can watch it online later, but I’d rather have a real-time response ready, just in case. Meanwhile, I’ll take this imbecile down to the bar and get him pleasantly sozzled until he calms down. Please?’

Brienne hesitated. ‘What do you need me to do, exactly?’

‘Just watch the segment of the show which she’s on, tell me how she seems, whether they mention Jaime, what they say and how she responds to it, that’s all. I’ll text you my number so that you can report back to me direct. Gods know I’d rather hear your rational, verbatim thoughts than the hyperbolic translation which I’ll get if it’s refracted through the solipsistic lens of Jaime-World.’

‘How dare you?!’ she heard Jaime yell. ‘That is literally the most insulting and ridiculous thing which anybody has ever said to me in the history of the universe!’

‘Aaaand I rest my case,’ said Tyrion. ‘Please, Brienne? You’re the only sensible person around here whom I know has Jaime’s interests at heart.’

‘All right,’ sighed Brienne at last. ‘Can I talk to him again, please?’

‘Of course, dear girl. Thank you. You are a trooper of the first order. A shining knight. Here he is.’

‘Traitor,’ huffed Jaime into the phone, though it didn’t sound too ill-natured. ‘He’s lured you in with his mind tricks. I’m telling you, he’s evil.’

‘You _are_ silly,’ she scolded gently, marvelling inwardly at being able to talk to him this way. ‘He’s only looking out for you, and so am I. Don’t you trust me?’

‘Oh, pull _that_ card, why don’t you? You _know_ I trust you, Brienne. More than I’ve ever trusted anyone in my life. This whole thing just gets to me, that’s all. And I wanted to _talk_ to you – about _us_ – you know – and now’ -

‘Oh, stop slavering over the poor girl and come and get a drink, for fuck’s sake,’ interrupted Tyrion loudly.

‘Don’t get drunk,’ said Brienne primly. ‘You’ve got a show to do tomorrow night. _And_ I need you alert by two, don’t forget. I – I didn’t think you drank anyway,’ she added softly.

‘I don’t,’ said Jaime ruefully. ‘Only when he forces me. Don’t worry, he can drink me under the table and around the block. I’m a total lightweight. Two beers and I’ll be happily snoring in my bed, a couple of hours from now, probably. Wait, are you worrying about me, wench?’ he asked in sudden delight.

‘No,’ she answered, embarrassed. ‘Just, um, doing my duty as stage manager. Taking care of my cast. You know.’

‘Hmm,’ he said, and she could tell he was smiling. ‘If you say so. I’ll be fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Send Daenerys some hate-vibes for me, will you?’

‘Jaime, I’m quite sure there’s no need for anyone to _hate_ anyone. We’re just... staying informed. Right? Ask your brother.’

‘He – What? Oh, he’s telling me to hang up so that he can get your number from me. I’d better go. I – I miss you.’

She felt a warm flush wash over her from head to toe. _‘Jaime._ Stop it. Go and have a nice time with Tyrion. You deserve it.’

‘’Kay. Speak to you soon, wench.’

Around forty-five minutes later, Brienne settled down with her dinner on her knees in front of the TV. She didn’t often watch talk shows, but _The Varys Show_ was a Friday night institution and had always seemed to be on when she was growing up. She had always found Varys himself to be a little creepy, but her father still occasionally watched it if a celebrity he liked, or someone he knew, was appearing. She wondered if he was watching tonight, and then tried to dismiss the thought as the music finished and Varys walked onto set in his trademark purple suit, smiling his habitual oily smile.

The first guest was some comedian she’d never heard of. Then there was a break for music, and then Varys introduced Daenerys, recounting her fame in Essos in gushing tones, and mentioning her father’s name in the introduction.

 _Oh dear,_ thought Brienne. _This isn’t good._

Her heart sank still further when, to warm applause, Daenerys walked on. She was beautiful, and sickeningly petite, with platinum blonde hair, eyes which looked almost as purple as Varys’ suit, and what were obvious even to Brienne as depressingly nice breasts, draped as they were in a floaty, white, almost non-existent gown. A lurch of irrational jealousy made her rather glad that Jaime wasn’t watching.

The interview opened with an overview of Daenerys’ work in Essos. She spoke with dignity, holding herself in an upright posture which revealed her dance training but also managed to lend her a somewhat imperious air. After a while, they moved on to a discussion of her new movie, _Mother of Dragons_. It sounded frankly awful, and the clip which they showed seemed extremely tedious to Brienne, but the girl talked as though it were the greatest masterpiece ever to hit the screen. Brienne found her mind wandering slightly, wondering how Jaime was, when her attention was jolted back to the TV screen by Varys’ next words.

‘And of course, Dany, everyone here fondly remembers your father.’ There was a smattering of applause. ‘I think we can all agree that what happened to him was a terrible tragedy.’ Daenerys nodded solemnly. ‘Would you say that your return to Westeros is an attempt to erase the past? Or to pick up where your father left off and, perhaps, introduce a whole new generation of Westerosi movie-goers to the Targaryen dynasty’s great talent?’

‘Thank you, Varys,’ answered Daenerys gravely. ‘Well yes, as you say, it was a tragedy, and I do want to honour my father’s memory, of course. Even though I can scarcely remember him myself – like, perhaps, some of the younger members of our audience, as you say – I think it’s important not to let that legacy die. But, on the other hand, you know, I’m my own woman. I wouldn’t want people to think I was just trying to trade on my family name. That’s why I’ve set up my own production company, Dragonfire Films, to show that I mean to succeed on my own merit - as an actor, as a film-maker, and as a woman. I think that’s important too, you know?’

There was more applause. Varys inclined his head smarmily.

‘Of course. But – speaking of people trading on their family name’ – he said, with a knowing smirk at the camera – ‘I suppose the question on everyone’s mind must be, is Westeros big enough for you _and_ Jaime Lannister?’

There was a quiet ripple of laughter from the studio audience.

‘Oh, is he still working?’ asked Daenerys with an innocent blink.

‘I understand he’s currently rehearsing a play in _Winterfell_ ,’ said Varys smoothly, managing to infuse the entire sentence with both disdain and amusement. ‘Which is why he couldn’t be with us tonight.’

‘Oh. Well, good for him,’ said Daenerys in a patronising tone. ‘That’s great.’ _Bitch,_ thought Brienne. ‘Well, in answer to your question, Varys’ – she turned her head towards the audience and the camera obligingly zoomed in for a close-up – ‘I can only say, what’s past is past. We all have to move on, and I think, if I may say, Lannister Productions has had its day. As I see it, we’re entering a new era for Westeros’ film industry. An era where I plan to make my mark.’

‘A new Targaryen era, dare we say?’ suggested Varys with a smile.

‘Yes,’ said Daenerys. ‘So I bear Jaime Lannister no ill will. It would have been nice to meet him face to face, but I wish him well in his new career, if that’s what he’s doing.’ There was more gentle applause.

‘Well,’ said Varys unctuously, ‘I’m sure he sends his regards to you too. Now, on to other matters. Can you tell us who designed this _fabulous_ dress you’re wearing, Dany? Isn’t it amazing, ladies and gentlemen? I wouldn’t be surprised if we see “the Daenerys look” on _all_ the King’s Landing catwalks next season! Is it an Essosi designer?’

‘Yes, that’s right, Varys. It’s Meereenese, to be precise…’

Brienne reached for the remote and muted the volume as Daenerys waved her hands around, presumably talking animatedly about her dress while Varys fingered the diaphanous fabric in an obnoxious manner. Reaching for her phone, she found the number which Tyrion had sent her and typed a message.

_Targaryen woman is totally full of herself. Says she wishes Jaime well but it sounded very rehearsed and patronising. Audience laughed when Varys said his name. She also mentioned your father’s company, not in a complimentary way. It was only a very short section of the interview, but not good._

After a few minutes she received a reply.

_Thanks. Sounds like a legal team had her briefed. Varys is a pain but it’s not a disaster. Did they at least mention the play?_

_They mentioned Winterfell and that Jaime is in a show, but not what it is,_ she typed back, then couldn’t resist adding, _Is he okay?_

 _Ha! The press release I sent them wasn’t totally wasted then,_ replied Tyrion. _And yes, he’s fine. Morose and annoying, but fine. Thanks for doing that. I owe you. Now get some sleep!_

Brienne stared at the phone, wondering vaguely whether Tyrion had set the whole thing up. _What am I getting myself into?_ she wondered, then remembered with a jolt that there was no suggestion that she was _getting into_ anything. Jaime had said that he wanted to ‘talk about _us’_ , whatever that meant, and said that he missed her, but it was still possible that he didn’t mean that in the way she had thought he meant it.

‘I am screwed,’ she said out loud to herself, echoing his words from earlier. ‘Thoroughly and completely screwed.’

*******************************

A sense of unease dogged her for the rest of the evening and all the next morning, but it wasn’t until she arrived at the theatre in the afternoon that she realised something was seriously wrong.

Jaime was sitting by himself in the dressing room, unshaven and wearing his red hoodie and a hangdog expression. He looked up as she walked in, but didn’t smile.

‘What’s the matter?’ she demanded in alarm.

‘Nothing,’ he grunted sullenly, avoiding her gaze.

‘Jaime?’ she said, her concern mounting rapidly. ‘What is it? Are you mad at me?’ She hated how needy she sounded.

He looked up at her with desolation in his eyes. _‘No!_ I just think… you’re going to be mad at _me._ Or, you know, _disappointed_ in me, or something. And I can’t fucking stand the thought of it, okay?’

She frowned in incomprehension. ‘Why would I be mad and disappointed in you, Jaime?’

‘Because I’m a walking fucking disaster area who doesn’t deserve to be here, doesn’t deserve for you to even look at me, and I should just forget this entire stupid plan, that’s why.’

 _‘What_ are you on about?’

He stared at her for another long moment, then finally sighed, reached into his pocket and produced his phone. He flicked at it with his thumb and then handed it to her wordlessly.

A picture of Daenerys Targaryen, in a screenshot from the previous evening’s show, stared back at her. Brienne glanced at Jaime, then quickly scrolled down the page. It was a review of _The Varys Show_ which she had watched, reported fairly straightforwardly, until it got to the part about Jaime. There was an old library photo of him, still with both his hands, and underneath that a picture of a dashing-looking Aerys in his heyday. Beneath this, the writer spent three whole paragraphs dissecting the short exchange between Varys and Daenerys about Jaime, regurgitating the more salacious reports of the ‘Kingslayer’ story, and ending up by confirming Daenerys’ opinion that Jaime, and the Lannisters in general, were finished. Worst of all, the author of the piece seemed to take great exception to Jaime’s non-appearance on the show, painting it as a callous and arrogant snub.

Brienne looked at Jaime again in confusion.

‘Scroll _up_ ,’ he said through gritted teeth.

She obeyed, until she came to the byline.

‘Roose Bolton wrote this?’

‘Yep,’ he nodded curtly. ‘See what I mean now? Did you see the title?’

She dragged her finger a little further. _‘Jaime Lannister sends his regards?’_ she read incredulously.

Jaime cocked an eyebrow and winced.

Brienne shook her head. ‘What does that even mean? That was a throwaway remark which Varys made in order to segue into a different topic - and now they’re making out like _you_ said it? To make you look bad? Why? Why would anyone do that?’

‘Welcome to my world,’ he said bitterly.

‘But – surely you can… I don’t know – fight this somehow? Defend yourself? Deny that you said anything like that?’

‘Oh wench. You never see it, do you? Nothing I say will make the slightest difference. This is written, now. Whatever I say will come too late. _This_ is already in people’s consciousness. He’s not said anything libellous. It’s all implied. So I’m powerless, and any defence I offer would look like feeble protesting after the event. It’s the story of my life. Of course, if I’d gone on the show, I’d have been slaughtered too. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. That’s why Tyrion didn’t bother telling me about it. There’s no point. I may as well just crawl under a rock.’

She moved towards him and gripped him by the shoulders almost savagely. ‘Jaime, _no._ No, okay? I will not let you do this to yourself again – or to our show. We are opening _tonight_ , and there are a huge number of people, and a bunch of press, all coming to see _you’_ –

‘To chew me up and spit me out onto the scrap heap where I belong, you mean.’

Brienne longed to kiss him furiously and tell him how much she loved him, and had to take a few deep breaths to control herself, cursing herself for her failure to realise how fragile the turnaround in his mental health had been. ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘Don’t be so stupid.’ She paused, thinking hard. ‘Is Bolton coming tonight?’

He gave a bitter snort. ‘No. Wifey wouldn’t let him, apparently. That’s one good thing, I guess.’

‘And what does Tyrion say about all this?’

‘Oh, that I should ignore it and concentrate on the job in hand. Crap like that.’

 _‘Well?_ He’s right, Jaime. Look, I – I know this hurts, okay? But you’ve been through worse and survived it.’

‘Oh, thanks, Brienne,’ he said bitterly. ‘Great moment to remind me of the worst fucking thing that’s ever happened to me.’

‘You walk around daily with that reminder, and you’re still alive,’ she said firmly. ‘I thought you were determined not to let it drag you down anymore? To be an inspiration for others?’

He stared hard at her and gave a long sigh.

‘Brienne?’ called Catelyn’s voice from somewhere in the backstage area.

Jaime quickly grabbed back his phone from Brienne’s hand, dropped it into his pocket and then reached for her hand again. ‘Don’t tell her about it, if she hasn’t already seen it,’ he whispered urgently. ‘She’ll have kittens.’

Silently, Brienne squeezed his fingers and nodded sharply, withdrawing her hand just in time as Catelyn appeared in the doorway.

‘Oh, there you are,’ she said in a harassed tone. ‘Brienne, can we grab Sandor and run a quick sound check? Also, there are still books on the floor from the end of Act Three, and I want to see what happens if we move that damned pot plant a foot to the left. Can we? Hello, Jaime. Why on earth aren’t you shaved? There might be another photographer coming in this afternoon. Get a move on!’ She paused and looked at their faces properly for the first time. ‘Is everything okay here?’

Dumbly, Brienne nodded.

‘Yup,’ grunted Jaime. ‘Just had a bit of a rough night, you know. Blame my brother.’

‘Oh for the love of the Seven, can you at least _try_ to behave professionally for once?’ snapped Catelyn. ‘Or had it escaped your notice that the entire success or failure of tonight hinges on _you?’_

Brienne winced. Jaime stared, swung on his chair, and drew in a deep breath. ‘No, Catelyn, that had not escaped my notice,’ he intoned in a voice of sardonic resignation.

Catelyn rolled her eyes. ‘Well, then. Go and find yourself a godsdamned razor and sort yourself out, please. I can’t be doing with any nonsense right now. Brienne, come with me.’

Brienne shot Jaime a quick smile of sympathy over her shoulder as she followed Catelyn out of the dressing room. He met her eyes and gave a half-shrug. The last thing she saw was him scrubbing his hand over his stubbly chin in a pensive manner.

An hour later they were back onstage. Things went a little better than the previous evening from a technical point of view, but Jaime’s performance was lacklustre to say the least. He had nicked his chin, presumably as a result of shaving without any shaving cream in one of the backstage bathrooms, and he was flailing around with the prosthetic hand more than ever. Brienne could tell that Renly and Olenna were trying their best to re-energize their scenes with him, but Olenna was clearly tired, Renly was growing increasingly frustrated and annoyed, and Jaime’s scenes with Ygritte – the least experienced actress of the company – were entirely devoid of the sparkle which they needed to make them work.

By the time Jaime had delivered the final line of the play in a spectacularly unconvincing manner, Catelyn looked ready to shoot someone. Then they rehearsed the curtain call several times.

‘Not sure why we’re bothering with this,’ muttered Renly as he passed Brienne backstage between the first and second runs. ‘We’d be better off practising tactics for ducking rotten fruit. That’s if there’s anyone left in the audience by the time we’re finished.’

Finally, Catelyn called everyone out onto the stage for her final director’s speech.

‘Well, everyone,’ she began, a professional smile plastered on her face. ‘This is it. I don’t need to tell anyone here that this production has been beset by difficulties. I realise that everyone is tired and nervous about tonight. But you all know that we can do this. You are an immensely talented cast, and I have been continuously impressed by the quality of the acting which I’ve seen during rehearsals. But tonight is a big night. The eyes of Westeros are going to be on Winterfell tonight, in a way that’s never truly happened before. So this is our opportunity to show everyone that we, a small provincial theatre, can compete with the best in King’s Landing. We have the talent. We just need the will, the belief and the professionalism to pull it off.’ She looked sharply at Jaime. ‘This is a much-loved show, and we have some famous faces here on our stage. That raises the stakes. Don’t let yourselves, or me, down out there tonight. Now, break a leg, everyone. You now have a ninety-minute meal break before the evening call-time. Thank you. Brienne, did you have anything to add?’

‘Don’t be late, please,’ said Brienne. ‘And, although I shouldn’t have to say this: no eating in costume. Um, other than that, just watch your timings, please. Um, that’s all.’

‘Oh and of course, it goes without saying,’ added Catelyn, ‘that Brienne’s word is law from this moment onwards. I shall be out front tonight, so this is where I hand over. This is Brienne’s show now. So don’t let her down either, please. Thank you, everyone.’

The actors rose and started to shuffle back into the dressing room to get changed. Catelyn pulled Brienne over to the shadows in the side aisle.

‘What in all the hells has got into him?’ she asked unceremoniously. ‘He’s not really hung over, is he?’

‘No,’ admitted Brienne sheepishly.

‘Then what is it? Oh gods, please don’t tell me the two of you have had some kind of _tiff_ ,’ she sneered. ‘This is exactly what I was worried about, Brienne. I’m not happy about this, you know. Did you _have_ to do it on opening night?’

‘Catelyn, I keep on telling you, it’s not _like_ that,’ she insisted, blushing. ‘He’s – he’s upset about something that was written in the press. He doesn’t want to talk about it though.’ She felt as though she was betraying Jaime by even revealing that much.

Catelyn groaned. ‘Well, whatever it is, there’s going to be a lot worse written in the press after tonight if he doesn’t buck his ideas up,’ she snapped. ‘In two hours, I’ve got to go out there and greet half of Westeros’s media and sing his damned praises! I haven’t been through all of this trauma over the past month, just for him to let me down at the bloody eleventh hour. Who does he think he is?!’

‘Catelyn, I’m sorry,’ said Brienne desperately.

‘Just – sort it out, please, Brienne,’ said the older woman sternly. ‘I swear, if his performance out there tonight is anything less than _glittering_ , I am going to be holding _you_ personally responsible.’

‘That’s hardly fair,’ Brienne protested.

‘I don’t care about “fair” anymore. I care about that red carpet in my foyer and the champagne gala in my function room and the fact that I’m about to be made a complete fool of! I repeat, _sort it out._ Right now. I’ll see you after the show. Possibly for a suicide pact.’ And she swept out of the auditorium, the side door banging behind her.

Brienne stomped into the women’s dressing room and removed her dress. The rest of the cast had already dispersed. Despondently, she looked at her black shift dress hanging up in preparation for the after-show gala. _Catelyn’s got a point_ , she thought. _We’ve all come through too much for this to go wrong now._

She changed quickly into her everyday clothes, then reached for her backpack and pulled out the two plastic containers which she had packed earlier, filled with chicken salad, and two forks. One for her, and one for Jaime. When she was making her own meal it had occurred to her that he probably wouldn’t realise that there was nowhere to buy food easily before a show on a Saturday night, and made up an extra portion for him.

Hanging up her costume in its spot, she knocked on the door of the men’s dressing room.

‘Yep,’ barked Jaime’s voice from inside. She opened the door to find him standing in front of the mirror, dressed in the red hoodie again and glaring at the prosthetic hand, which was detached and lying before him on the counter. He looked round when she entered and his expression softened.

‘Hey,’ he said.

‘Hey,’ she replied gently. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Um, no?’

Frowning, she proffered the plastic container and a fork. ‘I – I brought you some food.’

He blinked at her, took it, placed it on the counter and slowly prised off the lid, wedging the container between his stump and his body. He peered into it, looked up at her, and then back at the contents again in apparent amazement.

‘You made me chicken salad,’ he said in a wondering voice. ‘Why did you make me chicken salad?’

‘Oh. Sorry. Do you not like it?’ asked Brienne, instantly anxious and apologetic. _Why do I always screw up with him?_ ‘I – I just – the cafeteria’s not open, and I thought you might not know, and there’s not really time to’ –

‘Wench. I meant - how did you know this was exactly what I would want to eat?’

‘Oh. Well, I – I was just making some for myself, and I – well, I know actors like to eat something light before a show, and you… work out, so I figured you’d eat a lot of salad and protein and not many… carbs…’ She trailed off under the sudden look of burning intensity which he was giving her. ‘What?’

He finally broke his stare, slumped into the chair and picked up the prosthetic hand. ‘This thing is fucking useless. I can’t wear it.’

‘Jaime, it’s fine,’ she said.

‘No, it is _not_ fine,’ he ground out, ‘and you know it. I was a fucking liability out there with it on. You need to get Loras to pin up my cuffs. I’m going on without it.’

She advanced on him, her frustration boiling over. ‘Gods, Jaime! You can’t do that _now!_ Tonight!! Catelyn is furious enough with you as it is. She’s terrified about tonight after the way you performed this afternoon, and frankly, I can’t say I blame her! She sent me in here to talk some sense into you, and that’s damn well what I’m going to do. Again.’

He stared at her again for a long moment. ‘Give it up, Brienne,’ he said finally in a crushed voice. ‘Please. I know you want to save your theatre, and I’ll do my best, I promise, but stop trying to save me too. I’m not worth it.’

Tears stung her eyes and she pinched her lips together to try to prevent herself from crying. ‘You are to me,’ she gulped finally in a broken whisper.

Jaime breathed in sharply, and when he raised his eyes she could see tears there too.

There was a sharp rap on the dressing room door and she turned to see Tyrion looking up at her.

‘Oh, hello,’ she said.

‘What do _you_ want?’ grunted Jaime. ‘Come to wish me luck, ha ha ha?’

‘Naturally,’ said Tyrion. ‘But first I need to borrow the lovely Brienne, if I may, please. If you can spare her, that is. Ooh, chicken salad! How depressingly healthy. Do you have a moment, Brienne? Eat your rabbit food, brother. I’ll have her back in a jiffy.’

‘Fuck off,’ said Jaime, but began tucking into the food.

Tyrion hustled Brienne anxiously away from the dressing room doors and shuffled from foot to foot as his eyes scanned the back of the set.

‘Winterfell, we have a problem,’ he said drily, in a low voice.

‘We have lots of problems,’ Brienne responded in the same tone. ‘As you’re aware. He’s beside himself about that article, you know.’

Tyrion waved his hand dismissively. ‘Oh, that’s just Bolton being his usual charming self. Nobody really reads his stuff. Right now I have a rather more pressing issue. My father is on his way. Here. Now. As we speak.’

‘What?! You told us explicitly that he wasn’t coming!’

‘Well, so I was led to believe,’ said Tyrion. ‘It seems this was a last minute decision, following on from the Daenerys debacle last night. Apparently this is one of those rare occasions when Father considers that the need for a show of family unity outweighs his disapproval of whatever Jaime happens to be doing. You should actually feel privileged. However, it’s only fair to warn you that he will be disdainful about absolutely everything, and that your staff should be very afraid. Don’t worry, he won’t stay for the after-party. He doesn’t like to mingle with “riff-raff”. He’s only coming in order to be seen.’

‘But it was sold out!’ Brienne protested. ‘How could he even get a ticket?’

‘He’s Tywin Lannister, that’s how. Anyway, my point is, Jaime mustn’t know. It would completely freak him out.’

Brienne felt her hackles beginning to rise. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance your father will be sitting in an obscure restricted view seat in the back of the Upper Circle?’ she asked sarcastically, scowling down at him.

‘Oh my dear, he’s _Tywin Lannister_. He’s in the front of the Grand Circle. Best seat in the house. Always.’

‘Right,’ said Brienne with a set jaw. ‘That settles it. I am _not_ lying to Jaime. And I’m certainly not having him dry onstage because he suddenly catches sight of his father sitting in the audience. This is my show now, and I’ve had enough, do you hear me?’

‘But’ – Tyrion began to protest.

‘Tyrion, I’m sorry, I know you’re trying to protect Jaime, but I think I know what’s best,’ she said, certainty blooming ever stronger in her breast as she did so. ‘Thank you for letting me know, but I’ll take it from here. Now, would you mind vacating the backstage area, please? You’re not actually cleared to be here, you know.’

Tyrion regarded her for a moment, then gave a familiar-looking smirk. ‘All right,’ he said warmly. ‘You’re the boss.’

‘Yes,’ said Brienne. ‘Yes I am.’

She strode onto the stage. Pacing, she pulled out her phone and called Loras.

‘Loras, can you meet me backstage in five minutes, please? No, in five minutes,’ she repeated firmly, when he began to protest that he was on a break.

Eight minutes later, she marched back into Jaime’s dressing room with a flushed and cross-looking Loras in tow. Jaime looked up from his food in surprise.

‘Loras, we’re going to be making a change,’ she said, her eyes never leaving Jaime’s, which went wide in surprise. ‘Mr Lannister has tried two dress rehearsals with this false hand and it’s really not working, I’m afraid, so we’re cutting it. I need you to fix the sleeve on his shirt and all three of his jackets so that they don’t flap about. Can you do that?’

Both men’s mouths fell open.

‘Brienne,’ said Loras, addressing her slowly as though she were a dangerous lunatic, ‘you know I have to run that past Catelyn, yeah?’

‘No you don’t,’ she said, turning to him. ‘She’s handed over to me. It’s my show from here on. Mr Lannister has expressed his concerns and I agree with him. This is my call.’

‘She’s right,’ said Jaime with a grin.

Loras looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment, then rolled his eyes. ‘Fine, I’ll go get my stuff. But if there’s any comeback on this, Brienne,’ he said, brandishing a warning finger, ‘I’m not accepting any responsibility. Is that clear?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Brienne with a nod. ‘Thank you, Loras. And Jaime, you are _not_ to change any blocking, and I expect you to talk personally with everyone you share a scene with and make sure they know what’s happening. If anyone has any problems with it, they can come and see me.’

‘Noted and understood,’ said Jaime, still grinning.

Loras rolled his eyes again and left.

The moment he had gone, Jaime leaped up and stepped towards her, seizing her by the elbow. ‘What are you _doing?’_ he asked incredulously.

She put both hands on his upper arms, feeling his hard muscles there, and gazed into his face.

‘Jaime, your father is coming tonight. I’m sorry. Tyrion just told me. He didn’t want me to tell you, but I insisted.’

He stared at her, uncomprehending for a moment. ‘Fuck. Well, I suppose it was inevitable. But what does that have to do with’ –

She gripped his arms tighter and moved closer to him. ‘Jaime!’ she urged, low and fervent. ‘Don’t you see? You were right before. Nothing you can _say_ will silence your critics. But what you can _do?_ That trumps everything. This is your chance to go out in front of the whole world and show them all that you’re not ashamed of who you are! And from what you’ve told me about your father, it sounds to me like a lesson which he could do with learning, too. You _know_ that on that stage you can absolutely wipe the floor with all of them, and you don’t need fake props’ – she gestured to the prosthetic hand – ‘to do it. You were right all along.’

He was so close, his eyes like sparkling green whirlpools, pulling her in. She felt her gaze drifting down to his mouth, saw him register it, but before he could move, she gathered the final reserve of her courage and kissed him passionately. He groaned into it, pulling her to him fiercely, his hand fisting in her hair, kissing her back as though his life depended on it.

‘Oh, Brienne,’ he groaned when she pulled away. She ran her hands through his hair and stroked his face.

‘Make me proud of you tonight,’ she whispered. ‘And make yourself proud too. Will you? I - I believe in you, Jaime.’

She had never seen such a smile as the one he gave her. He buried himself in her arms, and as she placed gentle kisses on his hair, he whispered to her neck, ‘Yes. I promise.’

 


	15. I am not in favour of this modern mania for turning bad people into good at a moment’s notice.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an eventful night is had by all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, guys... I am so sorry!! This has just taken me so long! I've just had no time during this past university term. Hoping to get the updates coming a little faster again after Easter though. We are on the home stretch with this story. Thank you all for your patience, and for those people who have been sneakily leaving me extra kudos... I see you. :-) But seriously, your support means a lot.
> 
> So here for your delectation is Opening Night in all its glory. I've broken my own rule and actually included some dialogue from the play - on this occasion, it was unavoidable.

**_I am not in favour of this modern mania for turning bad people into good at a moment’s notice._ **

 

Brienne checked her watch for the umpteenth time and did a final visual sweep of the backstage area before marching towards the dressing rooms.

_Five minutes._

The hum of excited chatter emanating from the auditorium was doing nothing to calm the uncharacteristic churning of her stomach. She knew it was crucial for all the actors’ sakes that she, above everyone else, maintain an air of professional calm, but she couldn’t help feeling as nervous as though she herself were about to walk out onto that stage in front of several hundred spectators - most of them journalists, arts critics and the glitterati of the Westerosi theatre industry. Not to mention an imminently very angry Catelyn and the utterly terrifying-sounding Tywin Lannister. It was as though she shared a nervous system with Jaime, whilst simultaneously wanting to throw herself between him and anything which might cause him pain or distress. Horrifying though the thought of ever appearing on a stage herself was to her, if she could have acted his part in his place tonight, she suspected she might have offered to do so.

Taking a deep breath, she grasped the handle of the women’s dressing room and stuck her head around the door.

‘Everything all right in here? This is your five-minute call, ladies.’

Ygritte, who had been pacing the floor – a vision of period elegance, with her auburn hair piled high and her exquisite green and white gown swishing rhythmically as she moved - stopped in her tracks. ‘Well, I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’m fucking crappin’ meself.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Brienne, as reassuringly as she could. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’

Margaery, who was fixing some extra pins into Olenna’s hat, shot her a knowing glance over her grandmother’s head.

Olenna inclined her head marginally away from the mirror in Brienne’s direction. ‘Of course it is, dear,’ she announced placidly. ‘You run along now and sort the chaps out. Don’t fret about us. We’re all doing just marvellously. Aren’t we, Margaery?’

‘Yes, Grandmamma,’ murmured Margaery patiently with a grin at Brienne. ‘Thanks, Brienne. Seriously, we’re good. Go!’

Ygritte muttered, ‘Seven fuckin’ hells,’ and resumed her silken pacing as Brienne turned to leave.

 _Well, at least two people are behaving professionally,_ she thought. Reaching the men’s dressing room, she could hear voices and steeled herself for whatever scene she might find within. She knocked sharply on the door.

‘Five minutes!’ she called. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Yes, they’re all decent!’ called Loras’s voice after a moment.

The scene which met her eyes was most reminiscent of a kindergarten full of whining toddlers. Hodor was valiantly attempting to adjust Jaime’s cravat as the latter wriggled and huffed and snarled at him. Renly and Loras, meanwhile, appeared to be in the midst of a heated bickering match over something to do with Renly’s costume.

‘Are we good in here?’ asked Brienne, raising her voice slightly in order to be heard over the arguing. ‘This is your five-minute call. Mr Hodor, I need you on set. Mr Baratheon, Mr Lannister, positions and stand by please.’

‘Five bloody minutes and you expect me to go on with my trousers like this, Loras?’ snapped Renly. ‘It’s like you _want_ people to see how short my legs are.’

Brienne’s eyes flew anxiously to Jaime in anticipation of a sarcastic comment, but none was forthcoming. Jaime batted Hodor’s hands away, allowing the large man to nod and stomp past Brienne in the direction of the stage, then sighed heavily and turned to gaze at his own reflection in the mirror with an air of desperation.

‘Ren, love, your legs are perfect,’ protested Loras. ‘Seriously, you never said anything last week when you tried it on, or today in the Dress. You’re being paranoid.’

‘Renly?’ said Brienne firmly.

‘Fine, fine, I’m coming.’

‘Hey,’ said Loras, grabbing him by the lapel as he passed. ‘Not so fast, mister.’ He kissed him on the lips. ‘Break a leg. I love you.’

‘Hmph. Love you too,’ answered Renly grumpily. ‘But I’m getting you back later for the trousers of humiliation.’

‘I just don’t want any of those old pervs out there ogling my sexy boyfriend’s sexy ass,’ teased Loras, underlining his point with a playful slap.

Brienne became aware of green eyes boring into her in the mirror, and blushed.

‘Well, they’re going to need _something_ to distract them from the acting,’ muttered Renly, half under his breath.

Jaime’s nostrils flared worryingly.

‘Okay, let’s go please,’ said Brienne briskly. ‘That’s four minutes now.’

Renly grumbled a little more but finally left the room. Brienne pulled her walkie-talkie to her mouth and pressed the ‘Talk’ switch. ‘Asha? Are we okay? Let me know when I can give three.’

‘Yeah, there are still some press coming in now,’ came Asha’s tinny voice over the device, from the front foyer. ‘We may need to hold for a couple of minutes. I’ll let you know, Brienne.’

‘Okay,’ replied Brienne. ‘Try and hurry them along please, can you? Thanks, Asha. Sandor?’

‘Ready when you are, lass,’ replied Sandor succinctly from the lighting booth.

‘Thank you,’ said Brienne into the device, and flicked the switch off. ‘Where’s Luwin?’ she asked, looking around.

‘What?’ asked Jaime distractedly. ‘Oh, er, sitting with Nan at the back. He said they’d just keep out of everyone’s way at the start, seeing as they’re not on until Act Two.’ He turned back to the mirror and resumed his glum regard.

Brienne was unable to resist taking a second to drink him in. Loras had arranged his right cuff so that the shirt was pinned to the jacket and both stopped more or less level with the end of his stump. It wasn’t exactly on display, but not hidden either, and would clearly become visible if he were to extend his arm. Otherwise, the grey suit was tailored perfectly to his form, and the white shirt with its high collar and green silk cravat threw his jawline and eyes into sharp relief. _Nobody will give Renly’s legs or bottom a second glance_ , she thought, marvelling at how the thought of doing so hadn’t crossed her own mind for a second. A year ago, she would have been mesmerised by Renly in his dapper blue attire. Now, she couldn’t imagine noticing anyone on the stage besides Jaime.

‘Fucking hells, Brienne. What the fuck am I doing?’ he breathed agitatedly, breaking her reverie.

She feared anything she said would sound like a platitude, so she met his eyes in the mirror and opted for simple sincerity.

‘What you do best.’

His expression was frantic. ‘What if they all hate me? Laugh at me? Boo me off the stage?’

‘That’s not going to happen, Jaime.’

He opened his mouth to speak but at that moment her walkie-talkie crackled and Asha’s voice came through again.

‘Brienne? Just to let you know the VIP party is here and taking their places now.’

‘Which VIP party?’ asked Brienne in alarm. _Wasn’t almost the entire audience one big VIP party tonight?_

‘She means my father, I expect,’ sighed Jaime.

‘The, um, the Lannister party,’ said Asha in a lower voice.

Jaime raised his eyebrows and nodded, his lips clamped together in an expression of resignation.

‘Oh,’ Brienne replied, not taking her eyes off him. ‘Okay. Thanks, Asha. So are we good to go up in’ – she checked her watch – ‘two?’

There was a momentary pause, then a reply. ‘Yup. Last few stragglers and then I’ll come in and give you the all-clear. You can call it.’

‘Thanks.’ She flicked the switch again. ‘Two minutes. I need to go backstage, Jaime. I’ll see you at the door for your entrance, okay?’ She fixed him with her eyes. ‘You can do this. It’s going to be okay.’

He drew in a deep breath and then nodded. ‘Okay.’

She turned to go, and then darted back, took hold of the soft lapel of his jacket and dropped a light kiss onto his lips as Loras had done with Renly. ‘Break a leg,’ she whispered.

His eyes widened in surprise, a smile twitching at his mouth. For a wild moment, she wondered if he were expecting her to follow it up as Loras had done, and what his response would have been, but now was hardly the time for such terrifyingly speculative thoughts. Hurriedly, she turned and left the room, embarrassed.

Tapping on the door of the women’s dressing room with a quick ‘Two minutes!’, she rapidly took up her position at the back of the set, checking over her shoulder that Jaime was following her and moving into his place behind the central double doors. Renly was fidgeting next to his entrance, mumbling his opening lines very quietly under his breath.

Brienne moved close to the black drapes which framed the set, and peered surreptitiously through the sliver of a gap which allowed her to see the right-hand side of both the stage and stalls seating area. The hum had now escalated to a dense hubbub. The auditorium was packed as she had never seen it before - a conspicuously smarter crowd than was the norm in Winterfell, emitting an aura of money and wine and anticipation. She could see Catelyn seated in the middle of the front row, her hair up, wearing a dark blue velvet dress and adorned with rather more arty jewellery than usual. She was smiling and intermittently greeting people, but her expression was somewhat strained.

 _What if Jaime’s right?_ thought Brienne desperately. _Oh gods, please let it go well for him! It’ll destroy him if this fails._

Annoyed at herself, she tried to tamp down such treacherous thoughts by quickly checking the props table behind her. In any case, it was too late to be worrying. As she watched, Asha, dressed in a smart black trouser suit, entered from the back, spoke to the usher and strode down the side aisle, leaving the usher to close the door behind her. She stood at the front for a moment, looked around, checked her watch (Brienne checked hers automatically in response), looked up to Sandor in the lighting booth, and gave a sharp nod. On cue, Sandor dimmed the house lights, and the noise from the audience quickly dulled to a low murmur and then to silence. It was time.

Brienne glanced around one last time to double-check where her actors were, half willing Jaime to look at her and half hoping that he would remain focused. But before she could catch his eye, they were suddenly in total blackness, and then the sound effect of the piano faded in, and the stage lights came up.

The audience was silent as the scene opened. The entrance of Renly – normally greeted by friendly applause from their regular crowd – passed unremarked by this different clientele. Hodor’s first line, delivered in his usual deadpan manner, raised a slight titter, but the sense of tension was still both palpable and contagious. Expectation seemed to be coming off them in waves, but there was no doubt whatsoever what – or rather whom – they were waiting for.

Painfully aware of the hammering of her own heart, Brienne edged her way over to the central doors and reached out for the right-hand knob with a trembling hand. Jaime turned his head sharply to catch her eye as she arrived beside him, both of them listening intently to the dialogue taking place onstage. She had never seen him look more terrified, and rubbed his right arm gently in reassurance. He was shaking.

‘That will do, Lane, thank you,’ she heard Renly say onstage, and quickly she opened the door and stepped back as Hodor exited, closing the door behind him.

‘Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,’ whispered Jaime under his breath, his teeth clenched, as Renly uttered his brief soliloquy, and Brienne wished she could reach out for him again, but Hodor was now standing between them, ready to go straight back on stage to announce him.

With a quick glance at both of them to check they were ready, Hodor gave a nod, and opened the left-hand door while Brienne kept a tight hold on the right. He lumbered onto the stage.

‘Mr Ernest Worthing,’ he boomed, and took a step to his left.

A frisson of anticipation – felt, rather than heard – rippled through the audience.

Brienne flung her door as wide as she could without letting go of it or being seen. Jaime took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped through into the light.

The ripple became an audible murmur, a few sharp intakes of breath, and a mild smattering of applause – the latter mostly from the higher levels of the auditorium, where the few members of the public who had been lucky enough to secure tickets to the premiere were seated. Renly, at least, had the good grace and professionalism to wait for the reaction to subside before delivering his line. Brienne just had time to catch sight of Catelyn’s displeased expression as she clocked the absence of Jaime’s false hand, before pulling the door rapidly closed behind Hodor as he exited once more.

She knew that she should return to her spot at stage right, but found herself frozen in place, her ear almost pressed up against the back of the flats as she listened desperately to the scene in an attempt to gauge how it was going. The two men had moved downstage and it was less easy to hear all of their lines, especially as there was definitely some murmuring still coming from the audience.

‘…I have come up to town expressly to propose to her,’ she heard Jaime say.

‘I thought you had come up for pleasure?’ replied Renly with distaste. ‘I call that business.’ The warmest and most appreciative laugh so far rose from the audience, then grew inexplicably deeper, presumably at Jaime’s answering facial expression.

Desperate now to see what was happening, Brienne moved swiftly back to the gap in the drapes, cursing her cumbersome housemaid’s skirts for limiting her movements. From this vantage point, if she craned her neck she could just about see Jaime, standing by the table downstage with his back to her.

‘Please don’t touch the cucumber sandwiches,’ said Renly. He stepped into view and picked up the plate from the table with one hand, resolutely placing it at Jaime’s right.

There was another gasp from the audience, much louder than before. Jaime stared down at the plate, then back up at Renly as he continued to speak and eat a sandwich. Tentatively, the gasps began to turn to a titter.

‘Have some bread and butter,’ continued Renly expansively, producing another plate from the far side of the table, and advancing to offer it, very pointedly, to Jaime’s left hand, his eyes full of challenge. ‘The bread and butter is for Gwendolen. Gwendolen is devoted to bread and butter.’

There seemed to be a moment of collectively held breath as Jaime paused for exactly the right amount of time, flicked his gaze between the two plates, and finally reached out, took a piece of bread and bit into it, his gaze trained on Renly’s face.

‘And very good bread and butter it is too,’ he said smugly, and in a decisive movement he took the plate from Renly, marched to the other side of the table and sat, setting it down so that he could help himself more freely. The audience laughed warmly in relief.

A similar pattern was repeated a few minutes later when they reached the point in the scene where Jaime had to pursue Renly in an attempt to retrieve his cigarette case. The audience were undoubtedly warming up now, but the moment when Renly taunted Jaime by waving the case around his right-hand side, just out of reach, brought forth a further shocked and uncertain reaction - until they realised that Jaime was happily playing it for laughs, his eyes and grin flashing with half-amused annoyance as though this were a game which he and his friend indulged in regularly. Delighted, the audience finally began to hoot with unembarrassed laughter.

Brienne tensed when they got to the part where they had choreographed Jaime knocking the case out of Renly’s grasp with his prosthetic hand, worried that it might not work without it. Pretending to reach for the case with his left hand as a ‘diversion’, Jaime quickly extended his right arm, causing his stump to protrude fully from his shirt cuff, and used it to hit the cigarette case. The audience gasped once more. In reality, Jaime’s blow wouldn’t have been hard enough to dislodge anything, but Renly comically feigned dropping the case, as they had practised. To Brienne’s immense shock, Jaime then reached out still further with his stump and, in an unrehearsed move, used it as a kind of bat to knock the case up into the air, and finally caught it deftly in his left hand, spinning to gloat triumphantly at Renly, eyes flashing.

The entire auditorium broke into spontaneous, delighted applause. Brienne, almost weeping with relief, dared a peek at Catelyn, who was watching with a look of somewhat bemused incredulity. Onstage, Renly echoed the applause with a few brief – and equally unscripted – claps of his own, in character. Jaime gave him a mock bow, earning a hearty laugh, and even a small cheer from the upper circle.

 _It’s going to be okay_. _He’s so brave. I love him so much. Oh gods, it’s actually going to be okay._

The next two hours seemed to go by in a whirlwind of emotion. Intensely focused though she was, Brienne was unable to prevent herself from becoming swept up in the excitement and adrenaline transmitting itself from the audience to the actors and back again. Each successive scene seemed to buoy their mood and energy still further. Ygritte remained extremely nervous up until her entrance, and so Brienne was thrilled when Jaime, hitting just the right note between swagger and uncertainty, managed to coax a perfectly pitched flirtation scene out of her, which had the audience positively cooing.

The appearance of Olenna – by no means a household name like Jaime, but very well known to the King’s Landing theatre crowd who were there tonight – brought forth warm applause, and by the time they reached the famous scene between her and Jaime in Act One, the audience were cackling with joy. The dialogue was so exquisitely paced, and the two gargantuan talents onstage so ideally matched, that Jaime’s comic timing when he answered her with ‘I know… _nothing_ , Lady Bracknell’ earned, to Brienne’s amazement, as big a laugh as Olenna’s drily understated ‘A handbag?’ a few minutes later. By the end of the act, Jaime had the entire auditorium eating shamelessly out of his hand, and everyone knew it.

Brienne longed to go to him when they came offstage, but she had to deal with the scene change, and Jaime had a change of costume, so it wasn’t until Act Two was underway – the crowd apparently happily enjoying the appearance of the post- _FleaBottom_ -notorious Margaery in a new and unexpected light – that she was able to get anywhere near him again.

‘How do you think it’s going?’ he whispered anxiously, very close to her ear as she moved swiftly to escort him through the stage door and round to the side of the auditorium for his entrance up the steps, dressed in his mourning suit and top hat.

She spun and regarded him in astonishment.

‘Jaime – it’s going _brilliantly_ ,’ she whispered back. ‘Surely you can tell that?’

He frowned. ‘They seem to be enjoying it. I don’t know. It’s so many fucking years since I last did this, wench.’

‘Gods, Jaime. You’re such an idiot. They adore you.’

He bit his lip shyly, though his eyes were shining as they emerged into the slightly brighter light in the side corridor. ‘How about you?’ he whispered mischievously.

She felt herself blushing. ‘I told you. I think it’s going amazingly well.’ He bit his lip harder and reached for her hand. ‘Now don’t lose focus, Jaime,’ she whispered sternly when he appeared to be about to say something else. They had reached the door, and she leaned in close to listen. ‘Okay, your cue’s coming up. Get in position.’

She pushed him in front of her and he gave her a cheeky and very suggestive look over his shoulder, but then pressed his ear to the door and, thankfully, his features composed once more into concentration. He placed his hand against the door and she readied herself to catch it and quickly close it behind him. Unfortunately this entailed standing so close to him that she was actually pressed, full-length, against his back. He smelled wonderful, and she was almost overcome with dizziness and desire.

To her relief, at that moment she heard Nan, as Miss Prism, say ‘I spoke horticulturally. My metaphor was drawn from fruits,’ which was Jaime’s cue. She prodded him gently in the ribs from behind and he pushed open the door, a warm and heady aroma of expensive perfume and wine from the audience hitting her like a wave. Nevertheless, it was Jaime’s scent and body heat which she missed as he slipped through and began his solemn progress towards the stage.

The remainder of the show continued in similar vein. When the interval came, the entire cast was babbling and almost hysterical with excitement, but Brienne and Sandor had major work to do in changing the scene for Act Three. Besides, she thought it prudent to stay out of Jaime’s way this time. Not only did he appear to be in a dangerous mood, uplifted as he clearly was by how the performance was going, but she didn’t trust herself not to fling herself at him in full view of the rest of the cast and be damned. Flushing deeply, and feeling sweaty and restless in the uncomfortable and itchy costume, she busied herself with lifting furniture and checking and double-checking her lists, glad of the distraction from the wildly pulsating emotions and undeniable physical frustration which she was experiencing.

Act Three was short, and the smile which Jaime gave her during his brief exit, and the way his fingers brushed hers as she handed him the infamous ‘handbag’ from the props table, were so incandescent that by the time she heard him deliver the last line of the play – to an ecstatic sigh from the audience, and an even louder cheer from the upper levels – her heart was still walloping in her chest.

 _It’s over_ , she thought with relief. _We did it._ He _did it._ But the audience’s final response would be the ultimate test – apart from the reviews – but that was tomorrow’s worry. _This_ was the moment now which could change Jaime’s life.

Peeking through her little spy-hole, she watched him move to the front of the stage and, as the audience applauded enthusiastically, he turned, smiling broadly, and spread his arms to draw the rest of the cast forward for the curtain call. By mutual consent, they had all agreed that in deference to Jaime’s disability, none of them would hold hands for the bows as was the usual theatrical custom, but simply line up and bow together on his cue. When everyone was in place - now all with their backs to Brienne - Jaime looked from side to side to catch all their eyes, raised his arms again, and they all swept into a deep, gracious bow.

Brienne’s heart stopped when, as one, the audience rose to its feet with thunderous applause, cheering and shouts which caused the boards of the stage to actually vibrate beneath her. She had never seen anything like it in Winterfell. Jaime led the cast to bow again, and then, after a moment, he hesitantly took a single step forward and took a solo bow. The applause grew louder, and there was even a little whooping, but quickly he stepped back and rapidly nodded to the other actors so that they all bowed in unison once more, before turning to usher them off the stage.

In what seemed like a millisecond, he was beside her, backstage, followed by the others. The noise from the auditorium continued, deafening in its intensity. His face, even in the half-darkness, was clearly transported with unbelieving joy.

‘Brienne!’ he cried excitedly, grabbing her hand and raising his voice over the din. ‘They loved it! They actually loved it!’

The noise was growing louder. Dimly, she was aware of the rest of the cast turning on their heel and disappearing back in the direction of the stage, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Jaime’s euphoric smile.

‘No,’ she shouted, gripping his fingers tightly, unable to suppress her own grin now. ‘They loved _you_ , Jaime!’

He stilled and took a couple of rapid breaths, moving closer, his expression grown suddenly serious. ‘And I love _you,_ ’ he rumbled, and pulled her into a blinding kiss.

She was spinning in a vortex, lost, floating, her heart in her mouth and her ears and her fingers, scarcely believing herself real. _Did he say…? No, he couldn’t… But… Had he misheard her? Was it possible…?_ She seemed to hear his name over and over in her head – _Jaime! Jaime! Jai-ME! -_ and still he kissed, and still she poured herself into him, loving, wanting, her whole being consumed by him. His name, reverberating through her, a rhythmic chant – ‘Jai-ME! Jai-ME! Jai-ME!’ – accompanied by a slow handclap and stamping of feet.

_Wait, what?_

Abruptly, she tore her mouth away and whipped her head around towards the back of the set where they were standing.

The chant was not inside her head. It was coming from the auditorium.

With horror, she suddenly realised that the rest of the cast had left them and were back onstage, and the audience were clamouring for a second set of bows – and for the one, very important, member of the company who was yet to appear.

‘Jai-ME! JAI- _ME!_ JAI- _ME!’_

Turning to him in a panic, she gripped his upper arms. His face was all confusion and disappointment at her breaking their kiss, his eyes glued to hers. He appeared not to have noticed the cacophony from the auditorium at all.

‘You’re wanted!’ she yelped at him.

His eyes darkened. ‘Oh, thank the gods – so are you, Brienne! _So are you!’_ he growled fervently and tried to pull her towards him once more.

‘JAI- _ME!_ JAI- _ME!_ JAI- _ME!’_ The stamping was louder than ever. It felt as though the whole theatre was shaking on its foundations.

She stopped him with a hand over his mouth, just millimetres from hers. ‘No!’ she squeaked. She jerked her head towards the stage. ‘Out _there!’_

‘JAI- _ME!_ JAI- _ME!_ JAI- _ME!’_

He froze again, looking stricken and bewildered.

Frantic now, she shook him hard by the arms. _‘Curtain call!!!’_ she hissed desperately, punctuating her words with two more emphatic jerks of her neck.

Slowly – oh so slowly – his eyes left her face and turned in the direction of the noise. _Finally_ , she saw the moment of realisation dawn as his jaw went slack and his eyes bugged out in disbelief. He turned back to her, his expression one of such abject terror and incredulity that she had to laugh.

 _‘Fuck!’_ he exclaimed in a strangled squeak.

‘JAI- _ME!_ JAI- _ME!_ JAI- _ME!’_

‘Well – go _on_ then!’ she urged, with a near hysterical giggle, pushing him towards the centre doors.

Swallowing hard, he nodded and positioned himself behind the doors, then looked down at his body and muttered, ‘Oh fucking hells,’ in a different tone. He palmed somewhat wildly at the front of his trousers, muttered something else and hurriedly buttoned up his frock coat, motioning to Brienne to wait before opening the door.

‘JAI- _ME!_ JAI- _ME!_ JAI- _ME!’_

After what seemed like an eternity of him fiddling with his clothing and blowing out steadying breaths, he nodded that he was ready, and with monumental relief, Brienne flung open the door, revealing him framed in the rectangle of light like a messianic vision. The crowd erupted in a deafening roar. Jaime hesitated for a moment and looked up, overwhelmed, taking in the scene before him. Then she just had time to see his face light up, as he spread his arms wide and walked forward to join the other actors (whose faces were all directed upstage in varying degrees of exasperation, Renly’s the worst of all) before she pulled the door closed and flopped against the back wall, breathless.

 _He said he loved me. No. It’s not possible. It can’t be. It’s just the adrenaline rush, that’s all. He’s had an incredible night. Actors get like this. It doesn’t mean anything. I mustn’t think about it. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t have. But that’s okay. I’m just happy for him. That’s enough. But he said… No. He probably just thought_ I _said it, and thought he had to say it back. Oh gods, that’s so embarrassing. How am I going to get out of that one? ‘Jaime, you know when you thought I said I love you? Well, I didn’t. Not that I don’t. I do. But you don’t have to.’ No. Oh gods._

Before she could marshal her tumultuous thoughts, she was aware of the ovation slowly dying down and the actors re-emerging from the stage, Renly complaining, ‘Milking it,’ in a petulant voice as he passed. She looked around wildly for Jaime, but suddenly, as if from nowhere, Catelyn was there and had seized him the second he walked offstage. They were too far away for Brienne to hear what they were saying, but Catelyn appeared to be clutching Jaime’s hand between both of hers and saying something heartfelt which was making Jaime smile proudly.

After a few moments, Jaime glanced up and appeared to be seeking her with his eyes. Panicking, she quickly dropped to a crouch and started picking her things up, before turning her back and bustling towards the women’s dressing room. Protocol demanded that she congratulate all of the actors, and besides, they all deserved it. The unwritten rule was that the star should usually be the first, but she figured that _technically_ she had probably already shown Jaime her appreciation – albeit in a very untraditional manner! That would have to suffice, for now. She couldn’t face speaking to him again for the moment, and in any case she was desperate to get out of the dreadful housemaid’s dress before she succumbed to the urge to claw it off her body.

The mood in the dressing rooms was exultant. Everyone was hugging and laughing and congratulating each other, and no-one forgot to come up to Brienne and thank her, which she was embarrassed but pleased about. When Margaery hugged her, she stretched up on tiptoes to kiss her on the cheek, pulling Brienne’s head down so that she could whisper in her ear, ‘Well done, honey. Whatever you’re doing to Jaime, you must be doing it right,’ and pulled away with such a salacious wink that Brienne flushed from head to toe, causing Margaery to giggle with delight.

Once she had changed into her normal backstage uniform of black jeans and long-sleeved black top, she braced herself and went to knock on the men’s dressing room door once again, and then repeated it more loudly. The riotous male voices from within made it sound more like a sports bar. _What a difference two hours makes,_ she thought wryly when Jaime’s exuberant, ‘Yup!’ summoned her inside to be greeted by happy, raucous laughter and the unlikely sight of Jaime, now dressed in his everyday clothes, arm-wrestling with Luwin, while the others laughed and chatted loudly amongst themselves.

Her jaw must have dropped because he looked up with a grin. ‘Hey!’ he greeted happily, not letting go. He gestured with his chin. ‘What do you reckon? Cripple versus old man – who wins? Eh, Lu? Care to place a bet, wench?’

‘Gods, Jaime,’ she scolded mildly. ‘Leave him alone.’

‘Oh, it’s quite all right, my dear,’ said Luwin, turning to smile at her. ‘I’m just letting him win, you know.’

Jaime winked at her over Luwin’s head. It was obvious to them all that even left-handed, Jaime’s muscular strength would overcome anyone in the room, except perhaps her, but he relaxed his grip just long enough to let the older man push his arm down onto the counter, and groaned in fake disappointment. Luwin stood, smiled, and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Good work out there tonight, my boy,’ he said warmly.

‘And the same to you, ser,’ said Jaime sincerely, standing so that they could clap each other on the shoulder in that awkward masculine way. ‘We are nailing that handshake thing. A couple more nights and we’ll have it perfect.’

‘Always do your best, and then strive to do better,’ intoned Luwin, as he turned to leave the room in search of his wife. ‘My father taught me that.’

‘A very wise man he must have been,’ replied Jaime seriously.

All at once, a sudden hush fell over the room, and the massed bodies parted like the waves to reveal a figure standing in the doorway – a tall, white-haired man whose patrician bearing, expensive suit and flinty green eyes left no doubt as to his identity. Jaime’s face turned to stone, and Brienne took an involuntary step backwards. The floor between Jaime and the visitor cleared, but neither man moved.

‘Jaime,’ he greeted solemnly.

‘Father,’ replied Jaime with an identical intonation.

Tywin Lannister took two steps into the room and looked around him with distaste, taking in the tiny space with its higgledy-piggledy mess of make-up, costumes which Loras had not yet tidied up, and the musky masculine smell unique to such environments. He couldn’t have looked more disgusted, thought Brienne, if he had happened upon a particularly ripe pile of manure, but as yet he seemed to have failed to notice the presence of the three other people in the room besides himself and his son.

Jaime still didn’t move, or say anything else. Eventually, Tywin turned his sneer back in his direction, looked him up and down, lingering over the red hoodie, and said, ‘Well. That was an… interesting performance you put on tonight, Jaime.’

‘Thank you,’ said Jaime with more than a hint of sarcasm.

‘It wasn’t a compliment,’ barked Tywin, his eyes rising sharply to Jaime’s face.

‘I would never have been so bold as to assume it was, Father.’

Tywin narrowed his eyes and advanced by another menacing step. ‘Really, Jaime. I have lost track of the number of times that I have spoken to you regarding our reputation. Up until this unfortunate… escapade, I had started to believe that you were actually, finally beginning to grasp my meaning. It seems, however, that I was mistaken. Not only do you delight in embarrassing me, it now appears that you have abandoned all self-respect. I will not have our family paraded as a freak show.’

‘Oh, what a shame,’ said Jaime. ‘We’re rather good at it, don’t you think?’

‘Of course, I blame your brother,’ continued Tywin, grinding his jaw alarmingly. It was easy to see where Jaime got all of his mannerisms.

‘Naturally,’ put in Jaime sarcastically.

‘Do you deny this was his idea?’ asked Tywin abruptly. ‘He admitted as much to me himself. Of course, I expect nothing less from him. It’s _you_ I’m disappointed in, for humouring him to the extent of prostituting yourself in this manner like a common circus attraction. It’s obscene.’

‘Father,’ said Jaime wearily, ‘in case it had escaped your notice, I just got a four-minute standing ovation. I fucking _killed_ it out there. What you think doesn’t really interest me.’

‘Yes, well,’ retorted Tywin irritably, ‘the ignorant riff-raff have always possessed the ability to enjoy a grotesque spectacle. It’s a well-known fact. However, as I have told you many times, a lion should not concern himself with the opinions of sheep.’ He paused and the two men eyed each other. Brienne and the others were frozen in silence. ‘Now,’ Tywin went on in a chilling growl, ‘since I assume that your intention was to make some kind of… _point_ – very well, consider it made. What’s done is done. No doubt some of the members of the more _popular_ press will give you a decent write-up. Your _acting_ , per se, cannot be faulted, at least. We shall turn this to our advantage. Somehow. However, I must insist that you call a halt to this idiocy forthwith. I shall instruct your brother to inform the gentlemen of the press that this will be both your first and your last performance here. You will come back with me to King’s Landing on my plane tonight, and we shall speak no more about it. Do you understand?’

Brienne heard herself breathe in sharply. _Oh no. Oh gods, no no no._

There was a long pause. Eventually, Jaime sniffed, then sat down in the nearest chair, and began, very slowly, to remove his hoodie. Tywin’s eyes widened.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked sternly.

‘Getting changed,’ said Jaime in the same disinterested tone as before. ‘I’ve got a party to attend upstairs, or didn’t anyone tell you?’ He continued wrestling with his clothing until he was sitting there in his t-shirt, his stump plainly exposed. Brienne saw Tywin blanch and avert his eyes. ‘Something wrong, Father?’ asked Jaime mildly, a twinkle in his eye.

Tywin glanced from side to side and appeared to acknowledge for the first time that the two of them were not alone.

‘Jaime,’ he said in a strained voice, almost imploring. ‘Enough of this. As I said, you’ve made your point. We are in public. There is no need to’ –

‘Oh, but I think there’s _every_ need,’ said Jaime, raising his voice just a touch. He stood. ‘You see, everyone in this room, and everyone in this theatre tonight, sees and accepts me for who I am. I just proved that. Everyone except you, that is. Why is that, I wonder? Is it because you can’t handle being associated with something which you perceive as _failure?_ Don’t worry, I get it. I felt the same, for a long time, you know? But thanks to this show, I’ve discovered a new meaning to the word “success”. I’m sorry, Father, but I don’t think we speak the same language any more. If you genuinely can’t see the good in what happened out there tonight, then I feel sorry for you.’ He pointed towards the stage. ‘Because _that’s_ the future, Father, and the world is going to leave you and your type behind, if it hasn’t already. Now, you can stay and be happy for me, or you can leave, but I won’t be going anywhere with you. This show needs me, and I need it. And yes, it was Tyrion’s idea to get me here, but the decision to stay after I nearly quit, more than once, was mine alone. Just so you know.’

Brienne’s heart swelled with pride. There was another, interminable pause. Finally, Tywin straightened and cleared his throat.

‘Very well,’ he repeated. ‘Since I see that you are determined to defy me – as always – I shall not press the matter here. However, you should be aware that I intend to dissociate myself fully from this enterprise of yours. Don’t come running to me when what is left of your career is finally in tatters and you require money. None shall be forthcoming.’ A beat. ‘Just so _you_ know,’ he added, with a hint of wry humour.

Jaime laughed. ‘Oh Father! I’ve got money coming out of my fucking ears. I don’t need anything from you. I wouldn’t take it, even if you offered, anyway.’

Apparently accepting this as some kind of declaration of truce, Tywin curled his face into a rictus which may have been what passed for a smile from him. He turned to go, and then appeared to have a sudden afterthought and spun round again.

‘Oh, and one more thing,’ he said ominously. ‘I was sitting in the Grand Circle, I believe they call it – something of a misnomer, but that’s beside the point. I couldn’t help noticing the chandelier which was hanging just above my head. It looked rather _familiar_ , Jaime.’

‘Oh?’ responded Jaime innocently.

‘Indeed,’ growled Tywin. ‘I had occasion to telephone my building contractors last week, in an attempt to schedule some annual routine maintenance work on the guttering at Casterly Rock. I was informed’ – and here one eyebrow went up in an exact mirror of the way Jaime’s did sometimes – ‘that they were fully occupied with, and I quote, “a job Up North”. I also couldn’t help observing a distinct aroma of paint in the auditorium here tonight.’ He advanced another step. ‘If I find out’ – he began in a tone rich with menace.

‘Really, Father, I can’t imagine _what_ you’re implying,’ said Jaime nonchalantly. ‘There’s been a chandelier in the Grand Circle at the Winterfell Theatre since…?’ He turned to Brienne, his lips pursed.

Breathless, she took a step forward to stand beside him. ‘1859,’ she gasped, thankful that at least he had phrased it so that she didn’t have to lie outright.

‘1859, Father,’ repeated Jaime with an angelic smile.

Immediately, Tywin appeared to forget all about the chandelier, and instead turned to look Brienne up and down as if she were an especially worthless piece of horseflesh.

‘And who might you be, young woman?’ he demanded imperiously.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Jaime shuffle as though trying move in front of her. Gulping, she held out her hand. ‘Brienne Tarth, ser. Mr Lannister. I’m the Stage Manager, ser.’

Tywin stared at her hand as though it smelled. ‘Stage Manager?’ he repeated dubiously. ‘I was under the impression that that rather tedious Baratheon chap was the Stage Manager here. I forget his given name. You know, Cersei’s former brother-in-law?’ He turned to Jaime as though for assistance.

Seizing the moment, Renly stepped forward from behind Tywin. ‘Ah, you would be thinking of Stannis Baratheon, ser. My elder brother.’

Tywin swung around slowly. ‘And _you_ are…?’

Renly smiled his most winning smile. ‘Renly Baratheon, ser. Cersei’s _other_ former brother-in-law. It’s very nice to see you again, Mr Lannister.’ He held out his hand.

 _‘Again??’_ thundered Tywin.

‘Why yes,’ answered Renly, beaming his best fake smile. ‘We did meet at the occasional party, you know, when Cersei and Robert were together. Don’t worry if you don’t remember. It was _quite_ some years ago.’ He paused slyly. ‘And of course, you saw me onstage tonight. But I know it’s not easy to see from a long way back, especially if one’s eyesight isn’t the best. I’m always telling Catelyn, she should really install opera glasses for the older folks.’ Tywin looked as though he was about to murder him. Jaime was biting his lip furiously in an attempt not to laugh. ‘Anyway,’ Renly went on as though oblivious, ‘you’re right – Stan, my brother, that is – _is_ the Company Stage Manager here, but he handed over the reins to Brienne here for this production. And a jolly amazing job she’s done too. Hasn’t she, Jaime?’

Curling his lips, Jaime composed himself and turned to her. ‘She certainly has,’ he said, in a tone of such undisguised adoration that Tywin’s radar abruptly swung back in her direction. He looked shrewdly from her to Jaime, and was opening his mouth to speak when a rustling and bustling from the doorway interrupted them.

‘Tywin Lannister, is that you?’ called Olenna’s voice in a tone which brooked no argument. She swept into the room, swathed in an elaborate, spiky, yellowish silk creation, which lent her an air of a slightly bellicose hamster. ‘Don’t tell me you were going to leave without coming to congratulate me on my performance. I would simply never forgive you.’

To Brienne’s surprise, Tywin shuffled his feet in what appeared to be embarrassment, before composing himself and moving to raise Olenna’s hand to his lips.

‘Olenna,’ he greeted, a little self-consciously. ‘Of course I would never do such a thing.’

The tiny woman accepted his kiss with a flick of her wrinkled, manicured hand. ‘Well then?’

He raised his eyebrows, straightening up but peering down into her face.

‘Tell me how marvellous I was,’ she explained impatiently.

‘Oh, erm, harrumph,’ said Tywin. ‘Of course. Quite, quite marvellous. Outstanding, as ever, my dear.’

‘And wasn’t Jaime marvellous too?’ insisted Olenna challengingly.

Tywin swallowed and glanced at Jaime, then Renly. His face formed the rictus once again. ‘Well, erm – _everyone’s_ performance was of an extremely high quality, Olenna. Yes. Most, um, enjoyable. Indeed.’

Olenna’s eyes narrowed. ‘And of _course_ you are going to stay for the after-party, to show your support for your son in his hour of triumph.’

Tywin grimaced and shuffled once more. ‘Oh, well, you see, um – the thing is, Olenna, my pilot is waiting, and I have a landing slot booked, so I think’ –

‘Really, Tywin,’ she reprimanded sternly. ‘You mean to tell me that the head of Lannister Productions, the richest man in Westeros, can’t commandeer another landing slot whenever he needs it? Your ridiculous plane will still be waiting for you later, you silly man. Your incredibly brave son, however, only changes the face of Westerosi theatre _once in a lifetime_. If you aren’t here to share in that, don’t you think the papers will have something to say about it? Besides, I need an escort for the party.’ She waited.

‘It will be my pleasure,’ murmured Tywin at long last, though it sounded anything but.

‘Jolly good,’ announced Olenna. She held her elbow upwards towards Tywin’s hand. ‘Shall we? I believe the young people would appreciate some privacy, to ready themselves for the occasion. We shall see you upstairs, my dears!’ she cried, blowing a kiss in the general direction of the room as Tywin reluctantly took her arm. As they reached the door, she looked over her shoulder and threw Jaime and Brienne a large, conspiratorial wink, and then they were gone.

Jaime sagged against Brienne in relief, resting his forehead on her shoulder. Mortified, she patted him awkwardly on the back, muttering, ‘It’s okay, he’s gone now,’ and tried to extricate herself while touching him as little as possible.

‘Seven fucking bloody hells,’ chortled Renly. ‘I’d forgotten what a piece of work your old man is, Lannister! I see where you get it from now. Oh, I’m only joking!’ he added good-naturedly when Jaime bridled. He gave Jaime a friendly pat on the back. ‘Nice work though, man. You took him down!’

‘Yeah, well, thanks for your help,’ said Jaime ruefully. ‘And there is no _down_ where Tywin Lannister is concerned, I’m afraid. But you know what? I don’t care. Now – I need to get changed. Into a button-down shirt, no less. Who’s going to help me?’ He leered slightly at Brienne. Renly sniggered and began to pull Loras towards the door.

‘Oh – I’ve – um – got to strike the set,’ she squeaked. ‘Shall I get Hodor?’

‘No need,’ said a voice from behind her, and Tyrion walked in, followed by Margaery. ‘I can do it. What’s this about you taking Father down?’

‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Jaime, still eyeing Brienne.

‘It was actually kind of awesome,’ said Loras. ‘Never thought I’d say this, but I was impressed. See you upstairs, guys,’ and he and Renly left.

‘Awesome, eh?’ echoed Tyrion with a grin.

‘Well, maybe. Olenna struck the final blow though.’

‘Go Grandmamma!’ exclaimed Margaery.

‘Well, the bad news is, she convinced him to stay for the party,’ said Jaime, flopping into the chair. ‘Can I trust you to keep him off my back for the evening, Tyrion?’

‘Do you have any idea how many people are waiting upstairs to talk to you?’ Tyrion asked. ‘It’s not going to be an issue, trust me. He won’t be able to get within ten feet of you, _and_ he’ll have to watch them fawning all over you. He can eat shit and die.’

‘With any luck,’ Jaime muttered. He looked Tyrion in the eye uncertainly. ‘Are there really people waiting to talk to me?’

‘Of course, you numbskull,’ said Tyrion. ‘Where’s this shirt of yours?’

‘Oh. It’s up there. Sorry.’ Brienne followed his gaze and reached up to where a very expensive-looking black shirt and a pair of smart, dark slacks were hanging on a hanger next to the doorframe, and passed them down to Tyrion. Jaime fidgeted. ‘And you’re sure they’re not going to eat me alive?’ he persisted.

Tyrion stopped and waved his fingers in front of Jaime’s face. ‘Earth to Jaime. By my estimation, you currently rank somewhere above The Prince Who Was Promised in the hierarchy of national heroes. But you didn’t hear that from me, you boringly insanely talented, unnecessarily tall, badass bastard. I hate you, by the way.’ He clipped Jaime gently around the ear.

Jaime grinned and wrapped his arm around Tyrion’s neck in a headlock. ‘Right back at ya, Shortarse.’

Tyrion wriggled free and made a show of smoothing down his jacket. ‘Okay, let’s make you even prettier for your public. There’s a _lot_ of hot women up there too, you know,’ he added with a waggle of his eyebrows.

 _‘Tyrion,’_ hissed Jaime chidingly, glancing at Brienne.

Tyrion glanced up. ‘Oh yeah. Right. Come on then, Man of the Moment. Get your kit off.’ He turned to Brienne with an evil grin. ‘You staying for this, Brienne?’

Brienne felt herself turn scarlet with simultaneous embarrassment and distress at the thought of there being _other women_ – ‘ _hot’_ women - who might show an interest in Jaime.

Sensing her confusion, Margaery seized her arm and said, ‘No, she’s not, she coming with me to get changed too, aren’t you, Brienne?’

‘No, I’ve, um, got to strike the set,’ protested Brienne feebly a second time, earning a burning look from Jaime.

‘Right. And _then_ you’re getting changed,’ said Margaery.

‘I can do it by myself,’ she huffed, but allowed the smaller woman to lead her from the room, though not without a glance over her shoulder to where Jaime was still sitting, staring after her as though he could scorch holes in her skin with his eyes.

By the time she had disengaged herself from Margaery’s fussing hands and made her way to the stage, she found that Sandor had already done the bulk of the work. Overcome with guilt, she hurried to help him, but he chuckled amiably and said he had it all under control.

‘You run along, lass,’ he grunted. ‘You’re the boss. You deserve to chill out, after tonight.’

‘But’ –

‘Nah, I got this. Go drink some fucking free champagne and stand by your man. I’m almost done here anyway.’

Blushing as she always did whenever anyone made an open reference to her relationship with Jaime, she nevertheless felt no urge to deny it. She wanted him, and it seemed pretty clear that he wanted her. The thought filled her with less terror and more thrilling anticipation than it had done previously. However, there was still the thorny issue of the ‘L’ word which had escaped Jaime’s lips earlier – unintentionally, she was sure, or as a result of a misunderstanding. Somehow, she would have to let him know that she set no store by it and had no expectations.

This thought, however, led her back to the unpleasant idea of the so-called _hot women_ at the party. Maybe Jaime would prefer one of them after all? She could scarcely compete. She couldn’t compete _at all._ What if Jaime had only been interested in her in a ‘best of a bad lot’ kind of way, finding the pickings somehow slim in Winterfell? Now, though, with a bevy of King’s Landing beauties no doubt just waiting to throw themselves at him after his stellar performance, would he even give her a second glance anymore?

She walked slowly into the dressing room, suddenly despondent at the thought of going to the party at all. If it weren’t for the fact that she knew Catelyn expected her to be present, and that she was responsible for locking up the theatre afterwards, she would have considered jumping straight in a taxi and going home. She looked up at her dress. What was she even thinking? Jaime, the star of the show, the _Man of the Moment_ , as his brother had called him – looking at _her?_ Wanting _her?_ It was insane. It couldn’t possibly be true.

She would do her duty, go to the party, stay maybe half an hour and have one small drink, and then make her excuses to Catelyn and come and wait downstairs for everyone to leave. If Tyrion was right and Jaime was going to be cornered by media people all night, then it was perfect: she could slip away without even having to speak to him again. He would probably pick up some other girl – her heart clenched painfully at the thought – and when they all met again for the next performance, which wasn’t until Tuesday night – the whole thing between them would be forgotten. It would be awkward for a while, probably, and she felt as though her heart would break at the mere thought, but she could rise above it. It was for the best.

Thus resolved, she rapidly removed her t-shirt, pulled the black shift dress over her head, wriggled out of her jeans, and zipped the dress up at the back. Anxiously, she glanced at herself in the mirror. It really was way too short, exposing vast tracts of her enormous, freckled thighs, but there was nothing to be done. Raising her eyes higher, she noticed to her horror that the cut of the shoulders left her bra straps clearly visible. The last time she had worn this, it had been to a funeral and she had worn a blazer over it. Tonight she had no such garment, and besides, she knew the function room would be hot. Taking a decision, she reached around her back to unfasten her bra beneath the dress, then slid the straps down her arms to remove it, bundling it up with her other clothes. This left a lot of bare shoulder as well as bare thigh, but since nobody would be looking at her anyway, she concluded it didn’t matter.

Slipping into the black ballet flats which she had brought along for the occasion, she grabbed the large bunch of theatre keys from the belt of her jeans, and then considered her new outfit with some consternation. There was no belt, and no pockets. What kind of idiot designed clothes without pockets? Where was she supposed to put her keys?

She searched around for a few minutes and eventually came upon a length of blue ribbon which Margaery had had tied in her hair for the show. She knew she shouldn’t appropriate pieces of costume, but this was something of an emergency, and so, looping the ribbon through the keyring and tying it in a firm knot at the other end, she fashioned a makeshift lanyard and hung the keys around her neck. With nowhere to keep her phone either – _Seriously, what was with the no pockets thing?_ _Were all women’s clothes like this?_ – she rather unhappily tucked it back into the pocket of her jeans and buried the lot under the rest of her clothing. She had the only key to the dressing room, so she supposed it would be safe enough until the end of the night when she did her final rounds.

She locked the door, crossed behind the set, instinctively doing a visual check as she did so that all was in order, then exited the backstage area by the door at the stage right side, locking that behind her too. The stairs and corridor which led up the side of the auditorium were in almost total darkness, lit only by emergency lighting, but she knew her way without really needing to see. Climbing the final slope, she arrived at a door which opened onto the Grand Circle atrium, but which was hardly ever used, being semi-hidden at the edge of the seating area. Everyone always used the main entrance at the other end. This door was only ever used for admitting latecomers to sold out performances (an extreme rarity in this theatre) or on those occasions when an actor had to make an appearance from one of the Upper Circle boxes and needed to be escorted from backstage. The general public were never made aware of this route, and she suspected there were even members of the theatre staff who didn’t know that the door existed.

Brienne stepped through and was immediately hit by the same smell of wine and perfume, as well as the same hubbub of chatter and clinking glasses, as had been evident in the auditorium earlier. This time, however, the talk was louder and more riotous, and the wine smell was definitely winning. Locking the door behind her, she looked anxiously to her right, where the party was now in full swing in the main function room. Even from here she could see that it was heaving with well-dressed people, most of them clutching champagne glasses as they gossiped and brayed and air-kissed each other. It looked, frankly, like something out of one of Brienne’s worst nightmares.

With a deep, steadying breath she moved into the room and spied Catelyn in a corner, talking to a corpulent grey-haired man, a polite smile fixed on her face. She caught Brienne’s eye over his shoulder and gave her a small wave of acknowledgement, but thankfully spared her the ordeal of being summoned over. Self-consciously, Brienne smoothed down her dress and tugged at the hem, wishing she had at least worn tights or something - not that she owned tights, or had ever worn any, or knew if they even made them in her size.

The room was very crowded, and despite her height giving her at least a head’s advantage over almost everyone, it took her a few minutes to locate anyone else she knew. When she did, it was Ygritte and Jon, who were wrapped around each other in a corner. Brienne started to move towards them, but at that moment Ygritte picked up what looked like an olive from a nearby dish of hors d’oeuvres and proceeded to deliver it to Jon with her tongue. A second or two later, he passed it back, and so the game continued. Blushing, Brienne turned away and busied herself with finding a glass of champagne. It wasn’t something she normally indulged in, but it would appear churlish not to, and she felt the need to hold _something_ in her hands, if only so that she could stop fidgeting with her dress. In any case, perhaps Sandor was right and she deserved it. Or needed it. Or both.

It was then that she saw Jaime. Resplendent and devastating in the black trousers and shirt – the top two buttons unfastened and the sleeves rolled neatly to midway down his forearms – he stood in the middle of the room, apparently holding court amidst a crowd of acolytes - at least half of whom, she noted with a sinking heart, were young, female and gorgeous. There was a champagne glass in his hand and a smile at his lips as he alternately listened intently, laughed politely, or spoke with easy and obvious charm to anyone who addressed him.

They flitted around him like moths around a flame, and it took Brienne a few moments to realise that there was something resembling an actual _queue_ to talk to him. It wasn’t obvious, because there was no line as such, but there was definitely an inner circle and an outer circle, and whenever anyone from the inner circle moved out, someone from the outer immediately took their place, like customers at a bar. Jaime looked tired, she noticed, but seemed to be dealing with this relentless attention as though he were born to it – which she supposed, in some ways, he was. His father and Tyrion were nowhere to be seen.

She was about to turn on her heel and return to where she had seen Catelyn, when Jaime looked up over the head of the somewhat shorter woman he was talking to, and noticed her. She saw his eyes travel the length of her legs and back up again, his expression unreadable.

 _Oh gods, why did I wear this dress?_ she thought hopelessly. Turning, she made a beeline for the wall and plastered herself against it, wishing she could somehow disappear. Bending her knees slightly to make her height a little less apparent, she began to sidle along until she reached the place where Jon and Ygritte were standing, mercifully taking a break from their make-out session.

‘Eh up,’ greeted Ygritte. ‘Whassup wi’ you?’ She was clearly a little drunk.

‘Nothing,’ said Brienne, trying to sound calm. ‘How are you?’ She slugged her champagne nervously.

‘Oh, I’m fuckin’ _champion_ , mate,’ slurred Ygritte, wrapping her arms round Jon again.

Jon was stone-cold sober, and looked a little embarrassed. ‘Hi, Brienne,’ he said. ‘Great show tonight.’

‘Oh, were you watching?’ she asked miserably. Gods, she hated small-talk.

‘I was,’ said Jon seriously. ‘It was fantastic. Really enjoyed it. A real credit to all your hard work.’

‘Oh. Well, um, thank you,’ mumbled Brienne, unused to this kind of praise. ‘I didn’t really do much.’

‘Course you did!’ exclaimed Jon warmly. ‘I hear all the stories, don’t forget.’ He actually winked, albeit in a deadpan manner. Then he looked admiringly over to where Jaime stood, still surrounded by his flock of disciples. ‘Mr Lannister did great though, eh? I didn’t know he had it in him, if you want the honest truth, but it just goes to show – people can achieve amazing things when someone just has a bit of faith in them. Right?’

She looked down at Jon – he was really remarkably short, she observed, this being the first time she had actually stood next to him – and reckoned that he was probably a year or two younger than herself. How did he get to be so wise for one so young?

‘Yes, I suppose they can,’ she mused.

As though by telepathy, Jaime’s head turned again at that moment and she felt his eyes on her once more. Jon gave him a little salute, which Jaime returned by raising his glass in greeting, but he scarcely took his eyes off Brienne. Jon looked up at her face and smiled.

‘Well, we’ll leave you to it,’ he said drily, pulling a now sagging Ygritte into a more upright position and securing his arm firmly around her. ‘Come on babe, you’re drunk. I’m gonna find Sansa or someone to take you home. You know I’ve got to work tonight.’

‘You’re on duty?’ asked Brienne in surprise.

‘Yep. Got to whisk His Grace and Tyrion back to the hotel to escape from the paparazzi. And from their dad, I think.’

‘When?’ she asked.

‘Whenever Tyrion tells me. Don’t think it’ll be too long. Mr L hates this kind of thing. I’m surprised he’s lasted this long, to be honest.’ She blinked at this new information. Hadn’t the gala been Jaime’s idea? ‘It was nice talking to you, anyway,’ went on Jon politely. ‘Enjoy the rest of the evening. Might see you later, though, I suppose?’

‘What?’ she asked, shocked. ‘Why?’

‘Oh, no reason,’ he said with a hint of a smirk.

Ygritte perked up. ‘He means because you and His Nibs are gonna sh-'

‘Oookay, you definitely need to go home,’ interrupted Jon swiftly. ‘Come on. See you, Brienne. Sorry.’ And he hauled the protesting Ygritte in the direction of the exit.

Brienne continued to move around the edges of the room, keeping out of the way of the throng, until eventually she found herself in the relatively less crowded annex where the bar was. Tyrion was perched on a high bar stool, a rather attractive, voluptuous redhead hanging on his every word. Brienne wondered where Margaery was. She had just resolved to go and look for her – whether for her own companionship or to tell her what Tyrion was doing, she wasn’t sure – when a low voice behind her made her jump out of her skin.

‘You’re avoiding me.’

She spun to face accusing green eyes.

‘Jaime!’ she gasped. ‘What are you – I thought you were… busy.’

He took a step nearer to her. At close proximity, he looked even more gorgeous than he had done all night, and smelled better yet. She gulped.

‘Busy?’ he repeated in a dangerous tone.

She nodded nervously. ‘Yes. You know. Chatting to people. Important people. I didn’t like to… intrude.’

He edged closer still. ‘Wench,’ he sighed, ‘what I have been doing is _listening_ – or rather, _pretending_ to listen – to the most boring, sycophantic idiots imaginable, while the only person in the room whom I actually want to talk to is scuttling around the skirting boards like some kind of overgrown mouse. Why aren’t you right fucking beside me? I’m missing you.’

‘Oh.’

He looked her up and down again. ‘And what in the name of all that’s holy are you trying to do to me with that fucking _dress?’_ he huffed, a little breathlessly. ‘Seven hells, you could have warned me!’

‘Warned you of what? Is it that bad? What’s wrong with it?’ she groaned. ‘I’m sorry, Jaime, I didn’t have anything else suitable, I’ –

‘Brienne,’ he growled, ‘the only thing that’s wrong with it is that it’s still _on_ you, wench.’

It took a second for his meaning to sink in. ‘Oh.’

‘Yeah, “Oh”,’ he smirked, his eyes dark. ‘Gods, look at you! Your shoulders, your neck, your fucking _legs…_ ’ He trailed off and scrubbed his hand across his features. ‘So why _are_ you avoiding me? Is it just your bog-standard torture, or do you have some ulterior motive?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Jaime,’ she murmured, dropping her voice. ‘Look – what you said earlier.’ His eyes shot to hers. She breathed in again. ‘It’s – I don’t – I mean, it’s okay, Jaime. I – I know it was just… the heat of the moment, okay? You’d just come offstage, you’d done this amazing show, you get an adrenaline high – I know how it is. I’ve been around actors for a long time. It’s no big deal.’

He was staring at her with an expression midway between fury and desolation. _‘No big deal??’_ he repeated.

She swallowed hard and nodded. There was a hideous pause.

‘Well, it’s a big fucking deal to _me,_ Brienne,’ he growled at last.

Breath seemed to leave her body. ‘What?’ she whispered.

Jaime stared at her, licking his lips for a moment, then took a decisive step forward, positioning his mouth very close to her ear and speaking into it very quietly.

‘Let me put this to you another way,’ he murmured. ‘You see that bar over there, covered with champagne bottles and glasses?’ Confused, she nodded. ‘Well,’ he went on, ‘here’s the thing, Brienne. If I don’t get to be alone with you in approximately the next three minutes, I am going to walk over there, dramatically sweep all the aforementioned champagne bottles and glasses on to the floor with my heroic stump, and start yelling at everyone to clear the room so that I can _have you_ roughly across the bar, and I don’t care who listens outside the door while we do it. Do I make myself very clear?’

She backed up to look at his face. He looked deadly serious. ‘Across the…?’ she repeated, as though in a trance.

‘Across it, lying flat on top of it, on the floor amongst all the broken glass – I’m pretty much past caring at this point,’ he reiterated. ‘All I know is it’ll be hard and fast and loud. _Very_ loud. So, what’s it to be, wench? Do you know anywhere we can go and _talk?_ Or do I head over there right now? Choice is yours.’

It seemed to Brienne that there was nothing and no-one in the room except for her and Jaime now. She blinked three times, her eyes locked on his. Then she swallowed hard, took a breath and said in a rush, ‘There’s a door next to the Grand seating area in the corner at this end. It leads down to the stage door and the auditorium. Hardly anyone ever remembers it’s there, and I’ve got the only key. I’ll go out this way. You go back through the function room, out through the door by the buffet, turn left past the elevator, and then cross the corridor and it’s right in front of you. If anyone stops you, just say you’re looking for the toilets. Nobody can ever find the gents’ on this level. Give me a minute’s head start, then knock on the door when you get there and I’ll let you in.’ He gaped at her, open-mouthed. ‘Okay?’ she asked. Still no response. ‘Jaime?’ she said impatiently, aware that she was breathing heavily, as was he. _‘Okay?’_

Dumbly, he nodded. ‘Okay,’ he managed at last.

Nodding back at him, she lifted the bunch of keys around her neck to show him, and with one last, incredulous stare, she turned her back and hurried from the room.

 _Oh gods, what am I doing?_ she thought wildly. This was the most impetuous, forbidden thing she had ever done. _Have I lost my mind?_

Before she could give these thoughts any freer rein, she was back at the door through which she had entered earlier. Glancing to left and right – although she had every right to be opening it, and could simply be starting her locking-up rounds early, had anyone asked – she slipped through, and then removed the bunch of keys from her neck and slotted the door key into the latch on the inner side. She leaned back against the wall in the semi-darkness, the cool plaster and paintwork soothing against her overheated skin.

_It’s a big fucking deal to me, Brienne._

_Oh. My. Gods._

Her chest was heaving, her palms sweating and her knees weak.

 _Did he_ mean _it?_

There was a tap at the door and she jumped out of her skin. Twitching aside the black curtain which covered the impractical glass panel, she could see Jaime standing barely an inch from the door. With her heart hammering in her chest, she turned the key, opened the door as narrowly as she could, and let him in. Silently, he brushed past her into the dark corridor. Taking great care, she locked the door again behind him, and turned.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's night is just beginning. Tune in next time to pick up where we leave off...!!


	16. I don’t think that you should tell me that you love me wildly, passionately, devotedly, hopelessly. ‘Hopelessly’ doesn’t seem to make much sense, does it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the NSFW chapter we've all been waiting for. Kind of.
> 
> Smut, fluff, mild angst.
> 
> Hope this provides a pleasant distraction. Oh, and it's long. Very, very long.

**_I don’t think that you should tell me that you love me wildly, passionately, devotedly, hopelessly. ‘Hopelessly’ doesn’t seem to make much sense, does it?_ **

 

For five solid seconds, both of them stood frozen and rooted to the spot, a full four feet apart, simply staring at each other with unbreathing disbelief in the darkness of the secluded passageway, as the noise of the party continued, dimly audible, a few yards, a room and a world away from the door behind which they were sheltered.

Then, with a soft mutual groan, they both moved, and like a whirlwind he was on her, pushing her up against the wall, his tongue probing hot and hungrily in her mouth. His right arm anchored her in place while his lone hand somehow seemed to roam everywhere at once, his body pressed unrelentingly into hers. His erection was making its presence clearly felt, low against her stomach, hot and rigid as an iron bar.

Brienne was powerless to prevent her body from arching against him, narrowing the lack of gap between them still further as she kissed him back with desperate need, all hesitancy long since departed, mindlessly seeking some friction against her own instantly burning core, but finding her dress a frustrating barrier. Her hands seemed to have developed a will of their own, now smoothing over his back through the crisp black shirt, now twisting in his hair, now venturing to his chest where the ‘V’ at his neckline was coated with a mild sheen of sweat.

Jaime emitted a low growl and wrapped both arms tightly around her, refusing to break the kiss although he must have been in need of air as much as she, if the gentle snorts coming from his nose were any indication. His pelvis seemed fused to hers, her small breasts crushed against the muscular plains of his chest. Finally, gasping for breath, he wrenched his mouth away, but immediately began a no less ravenous progress down her neck, beginning under her left ear and descending all the way to her collarbone, sucking and biting and licking and kissing until she sucked in a breath on an ‘Oh gods’, and instantly he was up at her lips again, claiming them just as forcefully as before.

Brienne was molten and panting when he finally released her mouth for the second time and pulled back slightly to bore his eyes into hers. Even in the half-light, his pupils looked huge - black and glittering - and his chest heaved frantically.

‘Now,’ he rasped furiously, ‘what’s all this “No big deal” nonsense? Hey?’

‘Jaime,’ she panted. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – I just thought’ –

He made a disapproving noise and pulled her back into yet another kiss, shorter but no less devastating. She moaned in disappointment when he let her go again after a few seconds and placed his hand and stump against the wall on either side of her head so that she was compelled to keep her eyes on his – not that she was in any hurry to stop drinking in the sight of him.

‘For your information,’ he continued in an angry growl, still breathless, ‘I did not say anything “in the heat of the moment” or because of an “adrenaline high” or whatever fucking stupid excuse you came up with back there. Well – maybe that’s what gave me the courage, I suppose. To finally say what’s been _bursting_ out of me for fucking _weeks._ ’ He attacked her neck again, the other side this time, sucking so hard that she knew he must be leaving marks, but she scarcely cared. ‘You _consume_ me, wench,’ he groaned, in between bites. ‘I think about you _all_ the time. _Fuck_. I dream of you.’

‘Jaime,’ she moaned again as her eyes fell shut, lost in the sensations and the heat of his words.

He kissed his way back up towards her mouth but stopped short, his hand now holding her head steady, and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip until she opened her eyes and looked at him again.

‘Brienne,’ he murmured more softly, gazing deeply into her eyes. ‘Do you seriously not know that I’m in _ridiculous fucking love_ with you? Head over _fucking_ heels.’ He stroked her face gently, the glimmer of a smile flickering around his lips, although his expression was deadly earnest. ‘How could I not be?’

The world seemed to stop and tilt as she stared at him, wide-eyed and incapable of speech.

‘And, I dunno, maybe that’s not what this is for you,’ Jaime continued gravely, his eyes large and doleful. ‘Maybe you don’t want some crippled old reprobate spewing his feelings all over you, and frankly I wouldn’t blame you. You’re so young and lovely. Gods know you deserve better. So if that’s the case, then tell me and I’ll – deal with this. Somehow. But do not – _do not’_ \- he gripped her head hard and brought his face even closer, speaking through gritted teeth – ‘tell me that it’s _no fucking big deal_ when I rip out my heart and throw it at your feet. _Okay?_ ’

Brienne’s head spun. A giant boulder seemed to be lodged somewhere in her chest. She was still in his arms – or he was in hers, her hands stroking his hair soothingly. She opened her mouth to breathe, but air and tears both seemed to emerge in a watery, gulping sob.

‘You’re not - a crippled old reprobate,’ she whispered raggedly. ‘You – I think you’re wonderful, Jaime.’ He closed his eyes and bit down on his lip, his face tense. With a pounding heart, she moved closer until her lips were almost touching his, and finally forced out the hardest and the easiest sentence she had ever uttered. ‘And I love you too.’

Jaime gave a sharp intake of breath and pressed his forehead tightly against hers, almost wincing before opening his eyes again.

‘You, um – you might want to run that one past me again, wench,’ he croaked shakily, emotions warring visibly on his beautiful features. ‘Just - so I can be sure that I didn’t dream you saying it.’

_Was there ever a more perfect feeling in the world? How had she survived until this moment?_

She stroked his face tenderly and took a breath. ‘I love you, Jaime. How could _I_ not?’

He stared for another long moment, and then his face crumpled. ‘Oh my precious darling wench,’ he gulped brokenly, and buried his face in her neck.

She lost it at that, her mouth blindly seeking his with a low cry as she felt the wetness on both their cheeks. The kiss was both new and familiar, desperate and comforting, a homecoming and yet alive with new possibilities. When they broke apart, overwhelmed, Jaime’s smile was like the light of a million suns.

‘I love you _so fucking much,’_ he panted fervently, his grin as broad and incredulous as hers. He nestled his body into her, running his hand through her hair a few times as he watched her face with a look of awe and rapture. Brienne was glad of the wall behind her, afraid she might simply collapse from the immense, joyous disbelief of it all without the solid strength of bricks and mortar to prop her up – although Jaime felt pretty solid and real, and he wasn’t letting her go. He began kissing her again in experimental ways – a lick along the collarbone here, a nibble at her ear there, followed by a detailed and prolonged exploration of her mouth which she was in no hurry to bring to a close.

‘You’re very – aggressive – in your declarations of love,’ she complained teasingly in between kisses, euphoria making her feel giddy and bold.

Jaime pulled back and beamed even wider. ‘Aggressive, is it?’ he repeated, delighted at her bantering. He tangled his fingers even harder in her hair and bit down on her lower lip, none too gently, until she emitted a soft yelp. ‘Well, that’s just us, isn’t it, wench?’ He began to move down her neck again, continuing to talk without looking up from his task. ‘We’re like – the definition – of the irresistible force meeting the immovable object.’ He hummed as he sucked on her skin, then looked up with a grin, his eyes dancing gleefully. ‘Wouldn’t you say?’

Brienne found herself unable to repress a short, giddy laugh. ‘An object? Which one of us is an _object_ in this scenario of yours?’

He kissed her passionately. ‘You of course,’ he responded gruffly when he had finished and she was clinging to him, gasping desperately. ‘Though the operative word was “immovable.” Stubbornest bloody wench I’ve ever met, that’s for sure.’ He grinned again, kissed her on the nose and returned to his ministrations of her collarbone, and then began to nibble her bare shoulders.

‘Oh! So that makes you – oh – irresistible, I suppose,’ she gasped.

‘You said it, wench,’ he retorted, looking up with a cocky wink and a bite of his lip which had her growling and pulling him to her for some nibbling of her own on his delectable mouth. ‘Though,’ he went on as soon as she paused, unable to shut up as usual, ‘I have to say you’ve been doing a remarkably good job of resisting me up until now.’ He sucked below her ear again. ‘Such a bloody tease.’

She caught his face between her hands and raised his head to look at her, his words suddenly sobering her. ‘I haven’t been _teasing_ you, Jaime. I – I wouldn’t want you to think that. I’ve just been – uncertain.’

‘Of what?’ he murmured, searching her eyes.

‘I don’t know. Lots of things. How you felt. What might happen. I’m sorry. I – this is all so new to me.’

He hugged her hard and kissed her forehead. ‘I know. It’s okay. If it helps, it’s been a ridiculously long time for me, and you make me feel like a clueless teenager.’

‘What? I don’t mean to’ -

‘Sshh. I’m not complaining. It’s kind of nice and yet embarrassing in equal measure. Here I am, a supposed heartthrob, reduced to a stammering idiot by your blue eyes.’

‘Jaime,’ she protested, blushing despite her helpless smile. _His voice, the way he was looking at her – she would never get enough._

‘And not just your eyes,’ he went on in a slow drawl, tracing a finger and his gaze down her arm and then across her body. ‘I mean, there’s your godsdamned honourable soul and your perfect bloody goodness to take into account, obviously. And your courage, and your brilliance. Plus the whole fact of you saving me from myself and being my rock and my best friend and not taking any of my shit. You know, just minor things.’ His hand trailed lazily up her chest and finally came to rest on her right breast. He kneaded it softly. ‘Holy crap, you’re not wearing a bra, are you?’

She shook her head and arched into his touch as he flicked his thumbnail across her nipple and then tweaked it gently through the linen of her dress.

‘No,’ she whimpered. ‘The, um – oh – the straps – um’ –

His fingers found her shoulder again, stroking where the skin was exposed and then slipping in underneath the cloth. When he could go no further, he withdrew them and tried from above, running first his finger and then his tongue along her clavicle, trying to pull the fabric away from her skin with his teeth. In a final attempt, he pushed his nose under the edge of it at the armhole, before giving up and growling exasperatedly, ‘How in all the hells do I get into this damned thing?’

She gasped. ‘There’s a zip at the back.’

Jaime reached around, found the top of the fastening and made a couple of valiant attempts to tug it down, but with only one hand he was unable to get any purchase on it and only succeeded in lowering it by a couple of inches. He growled in frustration. Brienne hesitated for a second, uncertain how much he would want her to help him, but her breasts were aching for his touch. She reached for the zip herself, then had a better idea and began to turn so that he could get hold of it while she held the dress, but he stopped her.

‘Brienne,’ he hissed urgently. ‘No time,’ and before she could process what was happening, he had bent and taken her entire left breast into his mouth, sucking on it through the fabric, while resuming his flicking and pulling on her other nipple. Brienne almost squealed in shock, escalating to a loud, helpless moan when he released her from his mouth and reached across to rub her left nipple as well, the wet cloth covering merely heightening the sensation.

‘I’ve never wanted two hands more,’ he groaned, moving back up to meet her mouth again and happily returning her desperate kiss, before pulling back with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. ‘You know, _my_ shirt comes off. Though I do need some help with my buttons…’

Brienne swallowed hard, her eyes on his, and slowly raised her shaking hands from where they were splayed against the wall. Trembling, she tentatively undid the next button on his black shirt. Jaime smiled encouragingly, his eyes black as night, but the sight of the golden skin which she had uncovered – not to mention the extremely unavoidable protrusion in his trousers – was too much and she faltered. ‘Jaime,’ she whispered yet again, too overwhelmed by him and by her own emotions to continue.

He cradled her against him for a moment, then leaned back again and gave her a tender, lopsided smile. ‘I love you,’ he murmured again, then grinned wider still. ‘I really don’t seem to be able to stop saying that.’

She could feel her smile stretching her cheek muscles. ‘I love you too. So much.’ Her chest heaved, which seemed to catch his attention, as he started on her breasts once more. She moaned and writhed a little against the wall, mindlessly thrusting her entire body towards him. A deep, predatory growl rose from his chest.

‘So,’ he murmured mischievously, ‘no bra, huh? Panties? Where are we on those?’ His hand moved to her bare thigh and began to snake its way very slowly upwards as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

‘What?!’ she squeaked, pulling away from him slightly, mortified. ‘You seriously think I wouldn’t wear any -? Jaime! This dress is really short!’

‘Oh, don’t worry, I noticed,’ he grinned. ‘Your legs go on for weeks, wench. It’s un-fucking-believable.’ His hand climbed a little higher.

‘But – that’s – I – I mean, people would be able to see my – _you know!’_ she spluttered. ‘Anyway, who does that? If that’s the kind of girl you think I am, Jaime – or – or the kind of girl you want, then’ -

‘I’m _kidding_ ,’ he murmured, smiling against her lips. ‘I know you. I want _you._ Silly.’ His hand, however, didn’t halt in its progress upwards. ‘I’d still like to see what’s under here though.’ His eyes were dark and lustful, but his expression was open, loving and serious, utterly devoid of malice or ridicule.

 _He really means it_ , she thought. _He wants me. Truly._ Heart thudding wildly, she gave a sharp nod.

Jaime’s face became tremulous as his eyes searched hers, and then very slowly, his hand travelled the final few inches up under her skirt and came into contact with her underwear. Slowly, his gaze never leaving her face, his finger first slid up her hip bone, causing her to tremble slightly, then traced along the elastic at the top of her panties. Jaime swallowed visibly. Achingly slowly, his hand descended to the juncture of her thighs and brushed, feather-light at first, then more assuredly the second time, across the apex of the cotton triangle, which she suddenly became aware was sopping wet. She almost jumped a mile and bit down hard on her lip to prevent a sharp cry from emerging as a lick of flame shot through her from his touch, burning away whatever embarrassment she might have felt.

‘Seven hells,’ groaned Jaime huskily. ‘You are fucking _soaked through. Gods_ , wench.’ Brienne was unable to utter a syllable, paralysed by the sensation of Jaime’s finger touching her _there._ She felt herself tremble uncontrollably. Jaime cleared his throat, but when he spoke again his voice was more raw than ever. ‘Can I – can I feel?’

She nodded again, but then had a sudden, horrifying realisation and tried to squirm away, blushing scarlet. A frown troubled his brow.

‘Oh gods, Jaime, I – I’m sorry. I – I don’t, um – I don’t _shave_ or anything. You know. _Down there._ Sorry. Oh my gods, I’m so embarrassed.’

His eyes bugged out and his voice seemed to drop an entire octave.

‘Oh holy fucking hells, Brienne, _let me see._ Please?’

Stunned by his reaction, she nodded again, more firmly this time. Still watching her face, Jaime dropped to his knees on the carpet and tugged – not especially gracefully – on the elastic of her underwear, first one side and then the other until they were a few inches down her thighs. Then he dropped his gaze, pushed up her dress haphazardly with his stump, and sat back on his haunches, staring, with an expression akin to awe. Brienne battled the urge to pull her dress back down and cover herself, but something in his eyes prevented her. Besides, this was _Jaime_ , the man she loved. Mortified though she felt on one level by exposing herself in this manner, some deeper, more primal need made her long for him to see all of her. Nevertheless, she squirmed a little while awaiting his verdict.

Slowly, after what seemed like an eternity, he knelt forward, slid his arms around her middle and pulled her pelvis forward so that she could feel his breath wafting through her short golden hairs there which he had just been gawping at.

‘That,’ he said in the same dusky, reverent tone, sounding quite unlike himself, ‘is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire fucking _life.’_ He drew a few rapid breaths, then pressed a kiss to her muscled stomach, just above where her underwear would normally have been, and grinned up at her. ‘I love you.’ He kissed again, a tiny fraction lower. ‘Can I?’

She stared, uncomprehending for a moment, then with a blush which she was certain went from head to toe and which he must be able to feel, she realised what he was asking her.

‘You – you want – to -?’

‘Uh-huh. So much.’

‘Oh.’ It was a tiny sound which escaped from her. She swallowed hard. ‘O-okay.’

Jaime released a breath, and then, looking like a man about to pay his devotions to a holy icon, he leant forward a little more with an expression of intense concentration, and extended his tongue to swipe up and over her nub.

The wild stab of electric pleasure which speared instantly through her sent her reeling backwards against the wall before he could steady her, as a loud moan fell from her lips, this time quite beyond her control. He chased her with his mouth and repeated his action with a little more force.

‘Oh gods!’ she cried out, trembling, racked by the sensation and groping blindly against the wall for something to grab onto to steady herself.

Jaime tightened his grip on her but looked up, chuckling, and shot a glance at the door to his left, where the subdued hubbub from the party was still within earshot.

 _‘Well_ now, my wench, if you’re going to be _that_ loud, I think maybe we’d better find an alternative location,’ he smirked, his eyes twinkling wickedly in the darkness.

Brienne tried desperately to compose herself. ‘No,’ she panted weakly. ‘It’s okay. I’m sorry. I can be qu- oh! OH!!’ For he had rapidly bent his head forward again, licked and then actually suckled, fairly aggressively, on her clit.

He released her with a ‘pop’ and grinned up at her. ‘You were saying?’

It took a few moments for her to recover sufficiently to speak.

‘M-maybe you’re right,’ she managed through her haze of breathless need.

Jaime grabbed her hand and stood. The tent in his pants would have looked comical if Brienne hadn’t been half-crazed with desire. He pressed himself against her and kissed her, long and deep, then looked down the sloping corridor to his right.

‘Where does that go? Backstage?’

Brienne nodded. ‘And then down to the auditorium,’ she forced out.

He smiled at her. ‘You’ve got a key?’

Dumbly, she gestured feebly towards the bunch of keys hanging from the locked door beside them, attached to the blue ribbon. ‘I’ve got all the keys. I’m locking up tonight.’

‘Then the world is our oyster, wench,’ said Jaime mischievously. He reached out and grabbed the keys from the lock, swinging them from his finger with a challenge in his eyes.

‘Jaime, we can’t.’

‘Oh, I rather think we can. After all, where’s the last place in a theatre where anyone’s going to look for an actor after the show’s over? Hmm? Come on!’ He slipped the keys around his neck and took a step down the slope, holding out his hand.

Rolling her eyes, she nevertheless quickly readjusted her underwear as best she could, and then allowed him to lead her down through the deepening darkness. She felt as dizzy as though she were being tossed on the ocean, her mind still reeling in disbelief, surrendered to the memory of Jaime’s fingers and Jaime’s lips and Jaime’s tongue and the scent of him, all short-circuiting her brain. Every time she tried to actually think, it was as though all of this were happening to someone else. Vaguely, she wondered if this was what it felt like to watch oneself in a movie. She would have to ask him about it.

When they reached the stage door, she grabbed his arm to tell him to stop. He smiled and squeezed her fingers before depositing a needy kiss on her mouth. Smiling back, she lifted the bunch of keys from around his neck and stooped to unlock the door. He continued to kiss the back of her neck, pressing himself against her back in a most distracting manner so that it took several fumbling attempts to get it open. As before, Jaime slipped through, leaving her to lock it behind them. The backstage area was pitch black, and by the time she had located the light switch, relocked the door, and then hurriedly found a gel lamp so that she could turn off the conspicuous main lighting while still allowing them a little light, Jaime was nowhere to be seen.

‘Jaime?’ she hissed in a stage whisper. There was no response. ‘Jaime?’ she tried again, a little louder.

‘Out here,’ came his deep voice, from the stage.

Wonderingly, Brienne followed it and found the double doors onto the set wide open. The stage was in total darkness, the eerie green illumination of the fire exit signs, and the faint light shining down from the floor above, where the party was taking place beyond the auditorium, the only sources of brightness. Jaime was seated on the couch on stage, his form in silhouette against the dim lighting. She stood in the doorway, unable to tell which way he was facing, until he heard her footsteps and turned his head away from the auditorium, towards her. There was a beat of silence.

‘Close the door and come here,’ he purred.

Slowly, she did so. She was no stranger to blackouts on this stage, and moved around the furniture on set with ease, knowing the exact location of everything, but this was a new and terrifying experience. When she was close enough, he reached for her hand.

‘Jaime,’ she protested softly. ‘What are we doing out here? We can’t be here!’

She saw his white teeth glint in the half-light as he pulled her closer, laughing. ‘Like I said, wench. Where’s the last place anyone would look?’ He tried to tug her into his lap but she resisted.

‘Yes, but – I didn’t think you actually meant – _out here!’_

‘Relax,’ he said, kissing her knuckles. ‘I just want you to share this with me, just for a moment.’

He tugged on her hand again and she plopped down hard onto the couch, one knee on the leather seat beside him, and the other knee somehow half in his lap, which he looked inordinately happy about. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and twisted so that she was sideways-on to the front of the stage. Shyly, she allowed herself to rest her weight on him, her head sinking onto his shoulder, finding her mouth inches from his delicious neck for the first time. She was unable to resist kissing it. He hummed and kissed her forehead in response.

‘Being on this stage tonight was – well, under the present circumstances I hesitate to use the phrase “better than sex”,’ he said quietly, with a smirk. She snorted, punching him gently on the arm. ‘But it was _bloody amazing_ , Brienne. A life-changing experience. I really mean that.’ He turned to pull her into his arms properly, gazing at her face. ‘And now… _you._ I didn’t think tonight could possibly get any better, but now it has. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up in a minute.’

‘Me too,’ she whispered.

He kissed her deeply, then wrapped both arms around her waist and pulled her to the left so that she found herself straddling his lap, her back to the auditorium. In this position, it was impossible to avoid the bulging hardness in his crotch, and before she could stop herself she was grinding her own throbbing core against it in an instinctive rocking motion, eliciting a wild moan from both of them as sudden, urgent desire coursed through her, escalating the heat and pitch back to where it had been in the corridor upstairs, or possibly even higher. Hungrily, they devoured each other’s mouths, as Jaime joined her in her movements and both became breathless with frantic need. Her dress and underwear, and most definitely his trousers, seemed very much in the way.

The last shreds of rational thought and caution struggled their way to the front of Brienne’s brain and with an immense effort of will, she removed her mouth from his.

‘Jaime,’ she gasped. ‘We – we really can’t do this here.’

He grinned wickedly and sucked at the hollow of her throat. ‘Why not?’

 _‘Oh! Jaime.’_ She panted desperately. ‘Well – um - aside from the fact that it’s – oh - against literally _every_ rule’ –

‘Really?’ he teased. He was breathless and sinful-looking, biting his lip and caressing her breast with his thumb. ‘“Article 2.5, Paragraph Three: Actors and crew shall not engage in sexual activity on the stage set out of hours”? Really? That’s in there, is it?’ He kissed her hand and then unexpectedly pulled her index finger into his mouth, bit her knuckle, and then gave her finger a good suck. Brienne almost yelped with surprise at the sensations such a seemingly innocent thing set off in her, causing Jaime’s grin to widen still further.

‘You – you know what I mean. It’s unprofessional,’ she breathed, little more than a whisper, her resolve and her knees weakening as he began to kiss her neck again with a low, appreciative hum. ‘We shouldn’t.’ He didn’t stop, and contrived to grind up against her at the same time, setting off wild spikes of desire and pleasure through her. She bit her lip and was pawing at his chest, desperate now to get at his skin, when another problem suddenly struck her and she paused. ‘Jaime,’ she gasped. He didn’t look up, engrossed in his work on her neck. ‘Jaime,’ she repeated more insistently. ‘Do you – do you have any – um…?’

‘Any what?’ he grunted. ‘Gods, your neck is fucking gorgeous. It looks like this glorious pillar of marble or something, but it’s so fucking soft. I can’t wait to see the rest of you.’

‘Jaime,’ she said again in a warning tone. She managed to wriggle away just slightly, holding her pelvis self-consciously away from his, despite her every instinct screaming at her to grind down as hard as she could. He looked up at her, confused. ‘D-do you have any p-protection?’ she stammered, grateful for the darkness hiding her blush.

He froze, then threw his head back with a despairing groan. ‘No,’ he intoned in a voice of doom. ‘No, I do not.’ He sagged back on the sofa, releasing his grip on her. There was a long pause as both of them struggled to get their breath back. Jaime scrubbed his hand across his face. ‘Fuck. Gods, could I be any _less_ smooth?’ He smiled up at her ruefully. ‘I told you I was useless at this. I’m sorry.’

Brienne felt her body relax, although the heat between her legs was still incandescent. ‘It’s okay,’ she murmured, touching his face gently. ‘I – I’m actually kind of glad, Jaime.’

He raised a pained eyebrow in query.

‘I mean – I’m glad that you’re not the kind of guy who carries c-condoms around all the time, just in case.’

His other eyebrow joined its partner. ‘Do I _seem_ like that kind of guy to you?’

She shrugged. ‘No. No, it’s just – I guess it’s hard to for me believe sometimes. When you… are who you are, and you look like you look.’

‘I guess I can see how you’d think that,’ he said wearily. ‘But I’m not, Brienne. I’m really not. This isn’t a one-night stand for me. I don’t _do_ one-night stands. You have to believe that. Never have been able to, much to Tyrion’s eternal exasperation. And anyway, I _love you,_ remember?’

She gave a little hum and nestled further into him, kissing his neck again, and making him groan as she wriggled in his lap. She blushed and tried to adjust her position. ‘Sorry,’ she gulped. ‘I – I suppose we should go back upstairs.’

He twisted his head to look down at her. ‘You _are_ kidding me, right?’

‘But – I thought’ –

‘Brienne,’ he said with a smirk. ‘Put your hand here. Please.’

‘Where?’

Sighing, he disengaged his arm, took her left hand and placed it very deliberately over his crotch. _Still an iron bar. Hot and throbbing. Oh._ Jaime raised his eyebrow once again. She met his eyes, uncertain what he was expecting her to do.

‘My love,’ he said, deep and rumbling. An incredulous thrill ran through her at his words. ‘Trust me – _this_ isn’t going anywhere. Not without your help. So if you expect me to walk back into that room up there’ –

‘But we don’t have’ –

He kissed her, a light moan escaping his throat as he did so, thanks to where her hand was still resting. ‘There are other ways, you know, wench,’ he smirked when he broke away, but his voice was still deep and husky and his eyes were on hers, dark and intense. ‘And if I remember correctly, I was just getting started on one when we were upstairs.’ He pushed his hand up underneath her dress and pressed his fingers into her soaked underwear to illustrate his meaning, grinning wickedly.

She squirmed, but managed to maintain enough composure to look dubiously down at his bulging pants between them. ‘But, um – don’t you…? I mean, shouldn’t I…?’ She swallowed nervously.

‘Oh no. You first. Definitely you,’ he said with a wink, and pushed her off him so that she was half-sitting, half-lying against the back of the couch and he was kneeling on the stage in front of it. In a flash, his hand was at her underwear again, but this time he was pulling them down, kissing and then licking her thighs with relish.

Brienne wriggled upright just as her underwear hit the floor and he was trying to pull them off her ankles. ‘Wait!’ she squeaked. _‘Here??!_ Jaime, no!’

To her immense relief, he stopped immediately, bit his lip and appeared to be regarding the leather couch thoughtfully.

‘Hmm,’ he conceded drily. ‘I guess you may have a point. Tempting though it is to leave an indelible reminder of this on here so that I see it every night when I’m on stage, I’ve a feeling it might put me off my performance somewhat.’ He grinned up at her cheekily as she realised his meaning and blushed furiously. Then, in a decisive movement, he stood, seized her hand and tugged her to a standing position.

‘Where are we going now?’ she breathed.

‘Dressing room,’ he said firmly, pulling her after him so swiftly that she barely had time to step out of her underwear without tripping over, abandoning both them and her shoes on the stage with some consternation.

‘Wait!’ she cried again and he turned to her with a despairing look. She smiled and kissed him. ‘We need the keys.’

His shoulders sagged with relief. Brienne ran to retrieve the keys from the stage door, and returned to find him leaning on the door of the men’s dressing room with an unmistakeably predatory look on his face. She held out the appropriate key to him and he unlocked the door, pulling her after him. She switched on the light and both of them froze for a moment, blinking in the sudden brightness, before Jaime pulled her resolutely into his arms again.

‘No running away this time, Brienne,’ he murmured against her lips.

‘No,’ she agreed softly. She flung the keys down on the nearest surface and surrendered to his kiss.

There were no more thoughts or words. Now it was only tongues, mouths, hands, as she found herself unbuttoning his shirt and running her palms, finally, over the beauty of his sculpted chest. When her hands fluttered near to his belt and then away again, he broke away slightly and groaned against her, ‘Please, let me out of these fucking trousers at least. I’m in agony here.’

Shyly, with shaking hands, she unfastened his belt and the button of his trousers, but faltered when it came to the zip. Smiling, he did it for her and pushed his trousers down with a groan of relief, to reveal a pair of close-fitting black boxer briefs, currently straining to the limit to contain his extremely sizeable erection, adorned by a small damp patch at its tip. Brienne stared, wide-eyed. Mindlessly, Jaime palmed at his cock through the underwear, groaning again. Brienne gasped and felt herself turn bright red, though she was unable to tear her eyes away.

Jaime’s eyes opened and met hers with a smirk. ‘You see what you do to me?’ he rasped. ‘This is all yours, you know, wench.’

Her throat went dry. ‘Jaime,’ she whispered, and pulled him to her again. He kissed her with abandon, then began walking her backwards until the backs of her legs came into contact with the shelf below the mirror.

‘Get up there,’ he urged hoarsely.

Brienne glanced down dubiously over her shoulder, uncertain at first whether the wooden surface would take her weight, but it looked sturdy enough. There were a few items of make-up and hair products ranged across it, though not as many as there would have been in the female dressing-room. Jaime’s kissing and pushing at her was getting more urgent, however, so she hurriedly swept the cans, tubes and boxes aside and allowed him to manoeuvre her up onto the shelf. She slid back until her spine came into contact with the mirror and her legs were hanging over the front of the shelf, wriggling down slightly to avoid hitting her head on the lights around the mirror.

Jaime smiled encouragingly, and then placed his hand and stump on her thighs, pushing her dress up as he angled his body between her knees and began to edge them apart. She pulled him into another kiss, but after a moment he pulled away with another wicked smirk, and dropped to his knees before her, hooking his arms around the backs of her knees and pulling her forward before burying his face between her legs.

Brienne let out a wild cry and arched backwards, pushing her hands down flat against the solid shelf as she braced her weight on her arms behind her. Jaime’s tongue was tender, yet firm and insistent. He licked all around for a moment or two and then, abruptly, Brienne felt herself catapulted into the stratosphere as he found the exact spot and motion which triggered all of her pleasure receptors. She was dimly aware of shrieks and moans which she assumed must be coming from her own mouth, but she felt detached from her own body. Jaime was making appreciative noises in his throat while he continued his unremitting attentions.

Within a very short space of time, Brienne was bucking and writhing, trying desperately to get even closer to his mouth. Suddenly, he stopped and she wailed with distress, but it was only for a second. He blew gently on her, the sensation almost unbearable, and then she felt his finger gently probing her folds. Her eyes flew open.

‘Jaime?’

‘Is this okay?’ he asked gently, looking up at her with huge eyes and wetness shining around his mouth. ‘Tell me if it’s not. I’ve never done this with my left hand. I’m scared I’m going to hurt you, or not do it right, or something.’

Brienne felt herself blush all over, but nodded. ‘It’s okay. I – I mean, it’s amazing, Jaime.’

He stroked her some more, and her hips canted upwards of their own accord as she moaned again.

‘Have I told you how beautiful your freckles are?’ he murmured, kissing her thighs. ‘I want to eat them all. Later.’

‘Later?’ she mouthed, but the question was forgotten as she felt his finger slide inside her. ‘Oh!’ she cried, almost paralysed by the sensation. He smiled, moved it slowly in and out a few times, and then a second finger joined it. Her mouth and eyes went wide.

‘Is this okay?’ he asked again.

Speechless and panting, she nodded. He continued to work her for a few more moments, and then with a grin he dropped his head again and reapplied his mouth where it had been before, only this time pumping inside her with his fingers simultaneously.

All control abandoned her and she bucked wildly into him, shuddering, as he attempted to hold her steady with his right arm. She could feel pleasure beginning to mount from her toes and up her calves, and she knew she was gasping and crying out; then without warning he began suckling on her as he had done upstairs, and with a scream she shattered into a million pieces, yelling his name as he stilled his hand but kept licking her as she clenched down uncontrollably on his fingers, until she thought the wave of ecstasy would never end.

After what felt like an eternity, her frantic breathing subsided a little and she managed to tug lightly on Jaime’s hair. He looked up slowly, his expression triumphant but clearly wild and desperate with his own need.

‘I fucking love you,’ he croaked. ‘You’re a goddess.’

‘I love you,’ she managed breathlessly.

He placed one final, feather-light kiss against her weeping core, and then stood and pulled her towards his mouth. She could taste herself on him as they kissed, but couldn’t bring herself to be embarrassed.

Jaime broke away after a few seconds. ‘Brienne,’ he hissed. _‘Please.’_

She looked down at his underwear, which was now starting to find its task pretty much impossible. He followed her gaze with pleading eyes. Swallowing hard, she placed her hands against his hip bones and started to slide the fabric down, before realising that wasn’t going to work and she would have to actually lift it over his erection. Sensing her confusion, he grinned and moved to help her, and between them they finally succeeded in releasing his cock from its confines, though he was still wearing his shirt, fully unbuttoned. Jaime sighed loudly with relief. The sight of him, with his golden skin, exquisitely defined chest and stomach muscles with their light covering of hair, and a deep, positively obscene ‘V’ of muscle which pointed downwards towards his spearing arousal, was almost too much for Brienne and she had to take a moment while her head swam.

‘Please,’ groaned Jaime again. _‘Touch me,_ Brienne.’

Tentatively at first, she obeyed, caressing him gently as he hissed with pleasure and she found her gaze torn between his face, all clenched jaw and closed eyes, and his cock, which twitched and jumped in her hand in an unexpected manner, while Jaime trembled. She found the bead of wetness at his tip and, fascinated, rubbed her thumb in it, which made Jaime groan, ‘Yes,’ and half stagger backwards. Releasing him, she placed her hands on his shoulders and swung down off the shelf, despite the fact that her legs still felt somewhat shaky. He opened his eyes and, realising her intention, he allowed her to turn him and switch their positions so that he was the one sitting on the shelf. He pulled her to him in a passionate kiss and grabbed her wrist to move her hand back to where he needed it.

This time, she wrapped her hand around him more confidently. He smiled and nodded his encouragement, encircling her hand with his own and moving it up and down to show her what he wanted. She was relieved that he didn’t seem to mind her inexperience and that he could show her how to please him. Once she had established the rhythm, he removed his hand so that he could lean back as she had done, though the fact that he had to put all of his weight on his left hand made the angle a little awkward, but he didn’t appear to care. On the contrary, he had his head thrown back, his strong throat facing the ceiling and his eyes tight shut, grunting coarsely as he gasped out words of delight and affirmation.

After a very short time he abruptly cried, ‘Faster!’, and she obeyed, pumping him as hard as she could while he bucked into her hand with jerky movements, and then within what seemed like only a few seconds, his whole body suddenly went rigid, his face contorted and he gave a wild, strangled cry. Brienne felt his cock pulse hotly, and then her hand was covered with almost scalding wetness as Jaime shuddered violently and produced long, loud, heaving sighs and moans.

Finally, he stilled, and let his head drop forward onto her shoulder with a groan, his body almost sagging. She encircled his back with her left arm, but her right hand was still wrapped stickily around his now softening cock and she was uncertain what to do about it. She kissed the top of his head.

Jaime placed a sleepy kiss on her neck in return, and then started to chuckle, a low rumble in his chest. Brienne felt confused and suddenly distressed.

‘What is it? Did I do something wrong?’ she asked dubiously, aware of how stupid she felt, standing there clutching his cock in her hand.

He raised his head to look at her with a heavy-lidded smile. ‘Um, what do _you_ think, wench? Of course not. I’m laughing at myself.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m about as far from a great romantic hero as it’s possible to be. It’s just as well we didn’t try anything more ambitious. Clearly, I’d have lasted about three seconds and you’d have rejected me as sub-standard goods.’ He gave a rueful smile and kissed her jawline. ‘I’m sorry. This is not how I envisaged our first time going, believe me. You deserve so much better than a quick fumble in a dressing room.’

Relieved, she kissed him softly on the mouth. ‘Don’t be silly. It was – it was wonderful, Jaime.’ He raised an eyebrow sceptically. ‘But, um’ – she continued, embarrassed, glancing down between them.

‘Oh. Sorry.’ He gulped and gently prised her hand away. ‘I, um – I think there were some wipes around here earlier. Over there.’ He gestured with his chin. ‘Can you reach?’

She did so, and shyly cleaned them both up, thankful that by some miracle he seemed to have missed both her dress and his own shirt. He watched her face as she worked over him tenderly. When she had dropped the wipes into the bin, her face glowing with heat, he pulled her back into his embrace and kissed all of her embarrassment away.

‘Come back to the hotel with me after I’m done upstairs,’ he whispered longingly when they broke apart. ‘I really don’t want to sleep without you tonight, not after this.’

‘Jaime, we can’t.’

‘Why on earth not?’

She took a step back. ‘Because – this is your night. There’s a roomful of reporters up there, every single one of them with their eyes and cameras trained on _you._ If we were seen leaving together, it’d be all over the internet in the morning.’

His eyes narrowed. _‘So?’_

She blinked. ‘Well – Jaime – you can’t possibly want them taking photos of us together?’

‘Why not?’ he asked again in a displeased tone. He stood, found his underpants and started to pull them on. ‘Brienne, if you’re implying what I think you’re implying – that you want to keep this a secret – then let me tell you, that’s not happening. I don’t do clandestine either. Besides, I’m single, you’re single. We’re both allowed to see whoever we want. What’s the big deal?’

‘I – I just – I don’t know if I’m ready for… _that._ Publicity. It’s not exactly what I’m used to, Jaime. You need to give me a bit of time to catch up with you.’

He paused and sighed, reaching for her hand. ‘Sorry. I’m being an idiot.’

‘You’re always an idiot. And besides,’ she added, ‘tonight should be about your performance.’

He grinned and raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, possibly the least said about _that,_ the better.’

She frowned, and then blushed and hit him gently when she grasped his double entendre. ‘Your performance _on stage_ – oh my gods – in the _show_ , Jaime! You’re supposed to be relaunching your career and reinventing yourself as a stage actor and disability campaigner, remember? This is hardly the moment to taint that by having the tabloids speculating about your… love life. I’m sure Tyrion would tell you the same thing.’

‘I’m sure Tyrion would tell me that all publicity is good publicity and that a bit of salacious gossip right now would be absolutely perfectly timed,’ he said drily. ‘But you’re right about one thing. I don’t want to drag you into that. We need a strategy, and now’s not the time. I probably ought to get back up there before my father notices I’m gone. Button my shirt for me?’

‘Oh! Of course, Jaime.’

She buttoned it up carefully, unable to resist stroking him as she did so, which brought a delighted smirk to his lips. He reached for his trousers and stepped into them, allowing her to deal with the belt for him. When he was dressed, he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her, full of warmth and love.

‘I really do wish you’d come back with me, though. Well, not _with_ me, as such, because I guess I’ll have to make an exit with Tyrion, but you could come to the hotel later? After you’ve finished locking up? You’re always telling me how close it is.’

She blanched a little. ‘I don’t know, Jaime. It’s just… the idea of going to an actor’s hotel room – for… _you know_. I’ve never done that kind of thing. It’s not really _me.’_

‘Again, not a one-night stand, Brienne,’ he frowned sternly. ‘If we were in King’s Landing and I could invite you to my own place, I would. Sadly, we are here, and a hotel suite is all I’ve got. But it doesn’t mean anything different, just because it happens to be a hotel suite.’ He kissed her. ‘And it does happen to have an _extremely_ large bed,’ he added hopefully, waggling his eyebrows. ‘And a hot tub.’

‘Jaime,’ she protested. This was all starting to feel too overwhelming again. ‘I – I just don’t see how I can. I’m sorry.’ He clamped his lips together and released her. She brushed ineffectually at her hopelessly rumpled dress, then flushed with realisation. ‘My underwear. I have to get it.’ She turned and hurried from the room, found her underwear and shoes on the stage, and wrestled herself into them, mortified.

‘So, is this how it’s going to be?’ He was standing in the double doorway onto the set. She looked up guiltily.

‘What? What do you mean?’

‘You running away again. Two steps forward, one back? You said you wouldn’t, Brienne.’

‘Jaime, please don’t. You – we should get back upstairs, like you said. You’re right, people are going to start asking where you are. And Catelyn might be looking for me.’

‘Catelyn,’ he muttered scathingly. ‘Sometimes I wonder why you don’t fuck _her._ ’

 _‘What_ did you say?’ she demanded furiously.

He advanced onto the stage by a couple of steps. ‘Well, seriously, Brienne, I’ve lost count now of the number of times when you’ve shown you care more about her than you do about me.’

‘She’s my boss and I’m _loyal_ to her, Jaime, that’s all! There’s nothing wrong with loyalty, you know. Not to mention, she’s been through a tough time lately and she needs my support.’

‘Don’t you lecture me about _loyalty_ ,’ he growled irritably. ‘I’d be the godsdamned poster boy for loyalty if anyone would bloody _let_ me! And what about me? Haven’t I been through a tough time? Don’t _I_ need your support? You just have no idea, do you?’

She felt tears pricking her eyes. _How had it descended into this so quickly?_

‘I know I have a job to do tonight, and so do you, and we’ve both been behaving appallingly and neglecting our duties,’ she said primly, drawing herself up to her full height in an attempt not to crumble. ‘Come on, we should go back upstairs.’ She patted at her neck and then looked around. ‘Where are my keys?’

Jaime ground his jaw and stared at her for a moment, then muttered sullenly, ‘I’ll get them,’ and stalked off the stage.

Quickly, she checked the couch for any signs of their earlier encounter, but as far as she could tell in the dark, it looked the same as it had at the end of the show. She hurried off the stage, but was unable to prevent herself from casting a last, wistful look back as she closed the door. Jaime was waiting by the stage door. He had already switched off the dressing room light and closed the door, and was swinging her keys from his finger, his face like thunder in the dim light.

Brienne gulped. She couldn’t bear that she had hurt him, but the enormity of what they had done was starting to hit her. Nightmare visions of everyone scurrying around upstairs, searching for Jaime, finding her missing also, and waiting to confront them both, were tormenting her, and she was half tempted simply to hide down here until it was all over, but she could hardly let him face it alone.

‘Come on,’ she grunted, switching off the gel lamp, ushering him out into the corridor and locking the door behind them. He followed her silently up the slope towards where this had all begun maybe half an hour and an eternity ago. She listened at the door for sounds of hysteria or rampage, but nothing except the same low-level party chatter reached her ears, so she risked a quick peek around the black curtain at the window. Nothing. ‘I think it’s all clear,’ she murmured, and slipped the key into the lock.

‘Brienne,’ said Jaime in a desperate tone. She turned. His eyes were glistening a little. ‘Don’t – please don’t let’s leave it like this. I swear to you, I meant everything I said earlier. I’m sorry. I just get possessive. I know I shouldn’t, but this is – I’ve never felt like this. If you understood how very much I need you’ –

He reached for her face and she felt herself weaken. ‘Jaime, I – I’ –

‘Just – think about it, okay?’ he begged. ‘Please? I want this to be the start of something, Brienne. If not tonight, then – soon? Will you at least call me later? _Please?_ ’

‘It’s very late,’ she murmured. ‘It must be after midnight already.’

‘I don’t care,’ he said. He leaned in and she allowed him to kiss her lips gently, steadying herself against the door handle lest she give in and surrender to him completely again. ‘Please. I don’t care, Brienne. You’re all I care about. I mean it.’

She felt the tears coming again and, with extreme difficulty, moved away from his lips. ‘Okay, I’ll call you,’ she whispered, almost hating herself for her weakness.

His face lit up and he drew in a watery breath, nodding enthusiastically. ‘Thank you.’

‘Now you really should get out there.’

He nodded again and, with a final steadying breath, she opened the door and almost pushed him through, closing it behind him as if she were sending him on stage for his scenes again. She flopped against the inside of the door, breathing raggedly for a few minutes. Then, composing herself, she brushed down her dress once more, opened the door and stepped back into the real world.

To her great surprise, the apocalypse didn’t seem to have taken place while she and Jaime were downstairs. In actual fact, apart from the fact that the crowd had thinned out slightly, and those who were left were a little drunker than before, the scene in the function room was remarkably unaltered.

 _How can the world change so completely for me and just carry on the same for everyone else?_ she wondered, and then halted in her tracks, forced to acknowledge the truth of that thought. Her world _was_ completely altered. She loved Jaime Lannister, she had _made love_ to Jaime Lannister in a theatre dressing room, she had told him she loved him, and he her. Nothing was ever going to be the same again after that, whether she liked it or not.

Desperate to find him now, her eyes scanned the room for him, but he was nowhere in evidence – just his father, who was looking marginally less terrifying, with a glass in his hand and a sweetly smiling Olenna by his side, but even so, Brienne had no desire to encounter Tywin at first hand again, especially after what she and Jaime had been doing. She feared that her blush would become a fire hazard if she did so. Rapidly, she turned on her heel to try to leave, but found herself caught in the wide-eyed stare of Margaery, who was standing at the other side of the room, on the edge of a chattering group whom Brienne didn’t recognise.

Margaery was dressed in a skin-tight purple dress with a neckline which plunged almost to her navel, a soft pink cashmere wrap around her shoulders the only concession to the Winterfell weather, and carrying a small silver clutch bag. Her eyebrows went sky-high at the sight of Brienne’s face. Murmuring something to the man beside her, she promptly began sashaying purposefully across the room in her direction, moving at a swift lick despite the towering heels which brought her almost up to Brienne’s shoulder height.

‘Hello, Marge,’ gulped Brienne with a completely failed attempt at nonchalance when she reached her side. ‘What’s up?’

The smaller woman gripped her firmly by the elbow. ‘Bathroom,’ she said in a tinkling voice. _‘Now.’_

‘What? Why?’

Wordlessly, Margaery gripped tighter and began to steer her in the direction of the exit. Brienne huffed a little, but since she had no desire to be in the party room anyway, she allowed herself to be frogmarched like a hostage along the corridor and to the door of the Ladies’. Motioning her to wait, Margaery stuck her head around the door and then, apparently satisfied that the coast was clear, she propelled Brienne inside, swung her around and placed her squarely in front of the mirror.

‘That’s why,’ said Margaery with a note of grim triumph.

Brienne stared at the reflection of a woman she barely recognised. This woman was of her own height and colouring, and was sort-of-wearing her dress, but there the resemblance ended. Her hair was sticking up at a variety of crazy angles. Her face was the colour of a beetroot – which in itself was nothing unusual, but it was also shiny with sweat, and there appeared to be some kind of rash all around her mouth and chin. Her eyes resembled huge, glassy blue saucers, while her lips appeared to have more than doubled in size and were such a livid red that they stood out even against the vermilion of her cheeks and chin. Her dress looked as though she had taken it off, bunched it up and allowed a class of kindergarteners to jump up and down on it before putting it back on, and to add insult to injury, the back zip was still undone by about two or three inches, while under both armpits and, to her mortification, all around the left breast, were very noticeable water stains.

But worst of all, her neck was covered with approximately half a dozen reddish-purple marks of the exact dimension of a human mouth. There was also one on her shoulder, which may possibly have had teeth marks in it, and even a small one on her thigh, just poking out below the hem of her dress.

She turned to Margaery, appalled. ‘Oh my _gods!’_

Margaery looked down at the back of Brienne’s dress, around her bottom area.

‘Just so you know, there’s also a huge damp-patch stain down here,’ she said laconically. Brienne covered her face with her hands and groaned. ‘So,’ Margaery went on in a smirking voice, ‘you and Jaime did the deed, huh? That was fast work. I didn’t realise you meant “Not until opening night” _quite_ so literally, but still, nice. How was it? I’m guessing “good” from the look of you. Please tell me he doesn’t look _quite_ so obviously ravished, though.’

Brienne racked her brains. Now that she thought about it, Jaime’s hair _had_ looked kind of mussed when she left him, but she was fairly sure she hadn’t bitten him, at least.

‘I – I don’t think so,’ she murmured faintly.

Margaery tipped out the contents of her small purse on the counter and began rummaging through them in a businesslike manner. She produced a hairbrush and handed it to Brienne, who took it gratefully and began teasing gingerly at her tangled, straw-like hair. Once she had succeeded in taming it to some degree, Margaery took some paper towels, wadded them up and soaked them under the tap before handing them to her also.

‘What are these for?’

‘To cool your face. Especially the stubble rash. I’ll put some make-up on it for you once it’s dry.’

Sighing, Brienne accepted and held the blissfully cool wet pad against her burning skin, thankfully taking a second wad when Margaery proffered it.

‘Now,’ said Margaery seriously, standing in front of her and looking her in the eye. ‘Brienne, you know I’m your friend, right?’ Brienne nodded warily. ‘So, just tell me, do we need to have a conversation at this point about birth control?’

Brienne blushed, but wanted to laugh at the surreality of this beautiful, petite actress standing in front of huge, lumbering _her_ and talking to her like a mother addressing her teenage daughter.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘We, um, we didn’t have any, so we didn’t um – you know – go all the way,’ she finished in a suitably small voice.

Margaery’s eyes opened wide and she laughed. ‘Wow, and you still look like that?! I’m impressed!’ She moved back to her purse contents and started to pick up various items of make-up, examining them critically. ‘So what are we talking? Hand jobs? _Blow jobs?’_

Brienne covered her face again, wondering if it were possible to die of embarrassment, but nonetheless inordinately grateful for Margaery’s presence. ‘One of each,’ she muttered sheepishly at last.

‘Where did this take place?’

‘In the dressing room,’ she replied miserably.

‘Hmm. Nice,’ smirked Margaery for a second time. ‘So, I’ll ask again, in the light of this new information. How was it? Or how were they? Either, or both?’

‘Good,’ squeaked Brienne.

‘ _Okay_ good, or _mind-blowingly fantastic_ good? Scale of one to ten.’

‘I don’t really feel comfortable talking about this, Marge.’

Margaery began to attack Brienne’s jaw with the make-up, but Brienne flinched away. ‘Hmm, it’s the wrong colour anyway. Maybe just some powder will do it. Can I? You’re really flushed and shiny,’ she explained kindly when Brienne pulled a dubious face. ‘This’ll help.’ Brienne sighed, sat against the edge of the counter and succumbed as the other woman patted her nose, forehead and chin with a small, round pad. ‘So come on. Spill. Tyrion and I have been on tenterhooks.’

Remembering something, Brienne decided that a change of subject was in order. ‘Oh,’ she began hesitantly. ‘Marge, there’s probably something I should tell you. About Tyrion. Or – I don’t know, it’s probably none of my business, but you did say we’re friends, so…’ She trailed off.

Margaery stopped and regarded her curiously. ‘What?’

‘No, sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘No, go on.’

Brienne swallowed miserably. ‘It’s – it’s probably nothing, okay? But it’s just – earlier on tonight, I um, I saw Tyrion sort of… chatting up another woman. Sorry. You’ve been so nice to me about Jaime, so I just thought you should know.’

Margaery looked as though she was trying to suppress a smile. _‘Chatting up?’_

‘Well – he was talking, and she was kind of… draped on him a bit, and he didn’t seem to be objecting. I’m so sorry, Marge.’

Margaery stepped back and studied her handiwork on Brienne’s face. ‘Hmm, that’s a little bit better. I don’t think I can do much about the hickeys, though, unfortunately. You can borrow this,’ she said, removing the pink wrap and placing it around Brienne’s neck. ‘Just give it back to me next week, or keep it if you want. I’ve got loads.’ Brienne tried not flinch with disgust at the colour, and turned to the mirror, trying to arrange it to cover the worst of the damage. Margaery looked her up and down again. ‘Have you got a change of clothes somewhere?’

She nodded. ‘Aren’t you worried about what I told you about Tyrion?’

There was another tinkling laugh. ‘No, why on earth should I be?’

‘Well, I thought’ –

‘Brienne, Tyrion and I have what’s generally termed an “open relationship”. We enjoy each other’s company, and we have a great time when we’re together, but there are no strings attached. If I’m away filming or something, neither of us expects the other to live like a septa, you know what I’m saying? Then we pick up again at some later date. If we want to. If either of us ever wants that to change – which I don’t foresee, but _if_ we did – then we’d have a conversation about that, but for now it suits us both. There are a few ground rules, of course, like, don’t go to an event with one person and go home with someone else, because that’s just rude, but otherwise, we’re both free agents.’

Brienne blinked, trying to take this in. ‘And aren’t you worried that’s exactly what he was trying to do tonight?’

‘What did she look like, this… drapey-woman?’

‘Oh. Um, red hair, thirties. Um, kind of a full figure.’

‘Big boobs, you mean?’

Brienne blushed and nodded.

‘Oh that’s just Ros. She’s a friend. He invited her. I think they did have a thing in the past, but not any more. And no, I’m not worried at all. Mostly because he sent me a dirty text not ten minutes ago, detailing exactly what he plans to do with _me_ as soon as we get back to the hotel.’ Brienne found herself flushing and looking away. ‘What?’ asked Margaery, quick to pick up on it.

‘Nothing.’ Margaery frowned knowingly. Brienne sighed. ‘It’s just – Jaime invited me back to the hotel too.’

There was a pause. ‘And you said… “No”. Because…?’

‘I don’t know. I couldn’t exactly leave with him, could I, not with all the press here? Plus, it just made me feel kind of like a… groupie, or something. Sorry. No offence.’

‘None taken.’

‘I’m sorry,’ repeated Brienne. ‘I just – I can’t be like you and Tyrion. I just don’t think I could ever be happy with that.’

Margaery laughed again and leaned against the counter beside Brienne, putting her arm around her large shoulders. ‘A one-man girl, eh?’ Brienne shrugged. ‘Well, I guess we each picked the right brother, then, didn’t we? Why don’t you come to the hotel with me? I’m going along later. We can be Lannister groupies together.’

‘Oh gods, that’s the last thing you need,’ said Brienne drily. ‘We’d be in the headlines tomorrow for all the wrong reasons. “Margaery Tyrell in new lesbian love tryst”, question mark.’

‘Well, I’m game if you are,’ teased Margaery with a giggle, hugging Brienne as she blushed. She withdrew her arm. ‘Most of the reporters are completely sozzled by now anyway, so I wouldn’t worry. Come on though, seriously. What’s up? I thought you’d be happy about you and Jaime, but it doesn’t seem that way.’

Brienne sighed again. ‘Oh, I guess I just did my usual thing, where I panic and push him away, didn’t I?’

‘I seem to remember warning you about that.’

‘I know. Only this time it was worse. He was really upset. He – he said he loved me, Marge.’

The eyebrows rose again. ‘Was this before, during or after the hand-slash-blowjobs?’

‘I – all three, maybe?’

‘And then you freaked out.’ Brienne nodded. ‘Do you love him?’ She nodded unhesitatingly. ‘Did you tell him?’ Another nod. ‘And what was his reaction?’

‘He might have cried a little bit. Me too.’

‘Oh my gods, you two are so ridiculously sappy, you’re making even a cynical bitch like me come over all misty-eyed,’ said Margaery indulgently, rolling her eyes. She moved back to where her belongings lay strewn across the counter, and picked out a small, square, black packet, and walked back, holding it out to Brienne. It took her a moment to recognise it as a pack of condoms.

‘Oh!’ she blushed. ‘What? Marge!’

‘Take these,’ said Margaery in the same indulgent tone. ‘You need them a lot more than I do. Go to Jaime and bang like rabbits until you both get it through your thick heads that you’re perfect for one another.’

‘But’ –

‘No arguments!’

Brienne took the packet and sighed despondently. ‘It’s probably too late by now. I expect I’ve screwed it up for good.’

‘What was the last thing he said to you?’

She flushed. ‘Um, something about how he cares about me more than anything else and begging me to call him,’ she admitted.

‘Oh yes, that sounds like you’ve ruined it _completely_ ,’ said Margaery with a smile. ‘No hope there, at all.’

Brienne huffed a reluctant laugh. ‘I can’t just… _go_ to his hotel room.’

‘Of course you can. You definitely should. Naked, ideally. But I don’t think he’ll object, either way.’

Brienne looked at the condom packet again, dubiously. ‘What am I supposed to do with this? I can’t just walk back out there with it in my hand!’

‘Don’t you have a purse? No, of course you don’t,’ sighed Margaery. Resignedly, she picked up her purse and, after a moment’s indecision, quickly popped the powder compact, the hairbrush and the condoms into it, handing the whole thing to Brienne. This left her phone, foundation and lipstick, which she gathered up in her hand.

‘I can’t take your bag,’ Brienne protested when she realised what Margaery was doing. ‘Where are you going to put those things?’

‘Tyrion’s pocket,’ she replied with a smirk. ‘Men are useful for more than one thing, Brienne. You’ll find this out.’ She winked.

Brienne tutted with embarrassment. ‘But – don’t you need this back? How do I even carry this thing? There’s no handle.’

‘You hold it in your hand. That’s why it’s called a _clutch_ bag. And seriously, I have so much stuff, it’s fine. Keep it as long as you need.’

Brienne turned to the mirror one last time, scowling at the unfamiliar sight of herself in not only a dress but also sporting a feminine scarf and bag. She looked like a man in drag, but at least her face and lips were a slightly less violent shade of red and the marks on her neck were mostly concealed.

A slight escalation of noise beyond the door drew her attention and she glanced at Margaery, who stuck her head back outside.

‘Ooh, I think they’re leaving,’ she said. ‘Shall we?’

‘No, I – I think I’d better stay in here until he’s gone,’ Brienne murmured.

Margaery looked at her doubtfully. ‘Well, okay, if you’re sure. I’d better get out there though, or Tyrion will wonder what on earth has happened to me.’ Sure enough, Margaery’s phone beeped at that moment. ‘That’ll be him. Are you sure you’re not coming?’

‘No, I’ll just’ – She indicated the toilet stalls.

‘Okay. I’ll _see you later._ Well, not exactly – I’m not planning an orgy. But you know what I mean.’

Brienne nodded. ‘Thanks, Marge. I’m sorry I’m such an idiot. And I’ll get your things back to you as soon as possible, I promise.’

‘I told you, it’s not a problem.’ Margaery pushed the door open further and lingered for a moment. ‘Smile, Brienne. It’s going to be okay.’

Shyly, she complied, and with a little wave, Margaery was gone.

By the time Brienne emerged from the bathroom, after allowing perhaps another ten minutes to allow her face to cool off a little more, although she made a point of splashing it with water to wash off most of the unwanted powder which Margaery had applied, she was feeling a little calmer, and the party guests had mostly dispersed. The exit of Jaime and Tyrion seemed to have taken all but the most hardened drinkers from among the press corps along with it, and since there appeared to be no free champagne left, even they were teetering around aimlessly in search of more alcohol, and looked ready to give it up as a bad job.

In the main room, Catelyn was deep in conversation with another woman of her own age, but kept surreptitiously glancing at her watch. Brienne checked her own – it was one a.m. With no desire for Catelyn to see her up close, Brienne began her rounds, checking doors and windows as the last few stragglers said their goodbyes and prepared to leave. The clutch bag was an annoying encumbrance, but at least gave her somewhere to put her keys. Everyone else connected with the show seemed to have already departed, presumably exhausted after the evening’s excitement, and Tywin Lannister had clearly left the building.

Resisting the urge to tidy up the seemingly hundreds of discarded glasses and other detritus littering the function room - since that was Front of House’s job and not hers – Brienne left by the far exit, hopped into the elevator and went up to do a quick scan of the Upper Circle. All was quiet and in darkness. Riding down to the ground floor, she checked that all three doors into the auditorium were locked, along with the cloakroom, box office and bar storeroom. Then she started for the backstage area, blushing at the realisation that she already _knew_ it was locked up. However, her phone, her backpack and her other clothes were still in the women’s dressing room.

Going backstage again, alone, for the second time since the show had finished, felt like an out of body experience – the memory of being there with Jaime so recently whirling in her mind and threatening to engulf her with emotions. Keeping her head down, she hurried past the back of the set and the men’s dressing room door, not daring to revisit either of those locations if she was to try to hold it together, and unlocked the door to the women’s dressing room, snapping on the light. Trying to keep her mind on something else, she quickly tore off Margaery’s pink scarf and her own offending dress, ignoring the residual dampness of her underwear, and blushing again as she couldn’t help but see the stain which Margaery had referred to. She bundled up the dress and stuffed it into her backpack, then with a sigh of relief she found her backstage black jeans, t-shirt and black jumper and wriggled into them.

She checked that her phone was still in the back pocket of her jeans where she had left it earlier, but resisted the temptation to pull it out and look at it until she had finished locking up. She cast a quick glance at herself in the mirror and grimaced. Her jumper was doing nothing to hide the marks on her neck, so, not without misgivings, she pulled the pink scarf on again, winding it round a few times in the hope that it would simply look like a style accessory.

A final check of the function rooms back at the Grand Circle level confirmed that everyone seemed to have now gone home. She was thankful that Catelyn didn’t appear to have remembered that she hadn’t spoken to her directly since the end of the show. No doubt there would be notes to go through on Tuesday, and she would probably get taken to task for allowing Jaime to go on stage without the prosthetic hand without Catelyn’s prior approval, but in view of the way the show had turned out, she couldn’t imagine that Catelyn would be _too_ angry about it – unless of course the reviews tomorrow were bad, though that too seemed somewhat unlikely.

Brienne slipped on her jacket, stepping out into the night - which for once was miraculously dry, though the wind whistled around her portentously – and looked up at the façade of the theatre as she activated the alarm and locked all six of the front doors onto the glass atrium. What an evening it had been. Remembering that she had left her bike at home that afternoon, she located a taxi easily enough on the main road and gave the driver her address, pulling out her phone as he turned and headed south.

Nine new texts, all from Jaime.

The first had been sent two hours ago, before she had come up to the party, and read, _Wench? Where the fuck are you? Bored out of my mind up here. Come and rescue me! x_

The remaining eight had all been sent within the past half hour.

_Got to leave in a min. Where are you? xxx_

_Srsly, they’re making me leave. Need to talk to you. xxxxx_

_I’m in the car. Call me._

_Brienne. Please call me._

_Ok I’m back at the hotel now. Waiting for your call. Not sleeping. I really want to talk to you._

_Look, if I upset you earlier I’m sorry, ok? I didn’t mean that crap about Catelyn. Just frustration and heightened emotion talking, wench. I’M SORRY._

_This is crazy. I’m going to call you._

_Why aren’t you picking up? Where are you? Fucking call me! I’m worried about you now._

The memory of his face, his pleading eyes, his lips, his fingers on her, _in her,_ his mouth on her, his passionate words of love – all of which she had been trying to shut out ever since parting from him at the door – came rushing back, together with Margaery’s words. Half-unconsciously, she reached out and touched her backpack, into which she had stuffed Margaery’s clutch bag with its dangerous and enticing cargo.

_Go to Jaime and bang like rabbits until you both get it through your thick heads that you’re perfect for one another._

_If you understood how very much I need you…_

_I love you so fucking much._

Brienne rolled her head back on the seat and took three deep breaths. Then she sat forward and tapped decisively on the glass. ‘Excuse me,’ she called to the driver.

‘Yep?’ he replied brusquely, not taking his eyes off the road.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Brienne. ‘I think I left something behind at Winterfell Towers. Would you mind turning back, please?’

The taxi driver looked up into the rear view mirror and regarded her the way men always did – with disdain and scepticism. _All men except Jaime._ ‘What, now? We’re ‘alfway there now, lass!’

‘If you don’t mind, please,’ she insisted, politely but firmly.

‘To the ‘otel?’ he asked dubiously.

She blushed but stayed resolute. ‘Yes please.’

Muttering, the man rolled his eyes and executed a somewhat scary U-turn in the middle of the mercifully deserted road, and before she knew it, she was being deposited outside the black and white awning over the golden revolving door of the Winterfell Towers hotel. She gave the driver a hefty tip and scurried out of the cab as quickly as she could.

At this time of night, the hotel lobby, though no less glistening, was as hushed as a crypt, save for the tinkling of a somewhat gaudy fountain on the right which she hadn’t noticed on the previous occasion. The lights were dimmed slightly, the bar closed and in darkness. A lone figure stood behind the reception desk at the very far end, but the place was otherwise deserted.

Irrationally, she had somehow hoped that Jaime, or at least Margaery, would be waiting for her in the lobby. She was almost tempted to turn tail and run, but she had heard the cab drive away as soon as she exited. Besides, she could do this. Nevertheless, a few doubts were starting to gnaw at her mind. _It’s after one-thirty. He won’t want to see me now. I don’t even know where his room is. I could call him. But what if he’s sleeping? He_ will _be sleeping. I should go._

‘Miss Tarth?’ called a voice from the desk.

With a start, Brienne walked forward until she saw that it was Jaqen H’ghar, the manager whom she had met on her previous visit. She wondered if anyone else was ever on duty, or whether the man somehow had superhuman powers and was able to man the desk continuously, perhaps under a variety of identities. Then again, it was probably simply coincidence that he had been there on both occasions.

‘Good evening, Madame,’ he said as she approached, bowing in his usual manner. ‘A lady is most welcome.’

‘Um, thank you. I’m sorry to come so late. I, um…’ _What do I say? Can you please tell me where Jaime Lannister’s room is? Yes, I am going there to have sex with him, thanks for asking._

Jaqen produced his eerie smile and reached down under the counter. ‘A man has a gift for a lady,’ he announced.

‘For me?’ she asked, startled.

‘From Mr Lannister,’ he purred, and subtly slid an envelope across the desk. Her name was written on the outside of it, in a neat hand which definitely wasn’t Jaime’s. She opened it. Inside was a key card. She blinked up at Jaqen.

‘Mr Lannister left this for me? Are you sure?’

He inclined his head. ‘The younger Mr Lannister,’ he explained. ‘The, ah, smaller Mr Lannister.’

 _‘Tyrion_ left this for me?’

‘A man does not ask questions, Madame,’ said Jaqen mildly. ‘But a gentleman was heard to say that he had no need of his spare key to the penthouse tonight, and that it might be of use to a lady.’ She could have sworn he winked, though it was so lightning-fast that she almost missed it.

She looked down at the envelope again, and noticed some writing on the inside, underneath the flap. _Room 2301_ , it read. _Go get him, Tiger. Love, T. ;-)_

Brienne let out a squeak and slapped the envelope closed. _Damn you, Margaery._ Jaqen looked at her curiously. ‘A gentleman has returned to his room,’ he said meaningfully. ‘A _well-known_ gentleman.’ He paused. ‘Does a lady wish a man to accompany her to the elevator?’

‘No, thank you, Jaqen,’ she said with as much dignity as she could manage. She gulped. ‘It’s - this way, is it?’

He bowed again and indicated a row of gleaming elevators, half hidden behind a large pillar. Nodding her thanks before she could rethink it or die of shame, Brienne scuttled across the marble floor, acutely conscious of her casual attire and slightly ratty backpack, and grateful for Margaery’s cashmere scarf which at least lent some air of class to her appearance, even if it was pink.

Three of the four elevators went up twenty-two floors and then stopped. The fourth went directly to the twenty-third. Pressing the button with an enormous gulp, Brienne attempted a few steadying breaths as she tried to think through her course of action. _Should I use the key card? Does Jaime even know I’ve got it? What if I walk in on him sleeping, or in the shower? What if there’s someone else with him? No. No, he loves me._ _I should have called to tell him I was coming. Or to ask if he still wants that. His texts just said he wanted to talk. Oh gods, what am I doing?_

The elevator slid smoothly to a halt and, with a soft ‘ping’, the door opened on a plush corridor decorated in dark wood and even more sumptuous fabrics than the lobby downstairs. Following a sign, she found herself outside a door with an engraved plaque which read _2301\. Royal Suite._

Of course he was in the Royal Suite. _How fitting_ , she thought, rolling her eyes. Pulling the key card from the envelope, she hesitated, and then finally, summoning her resolve, she knocked.

There was no reply. It was then that she noticed a small, red, illuminated sign next to the door, which read ‘Please do not disturb’. She chewed her lip, and then knocked again, a little louder.

 _If he doesn’t answer this time, I’ll use the key. Or just leave._ She looked at her watch. One-forty. _Maybe leave. Or maybe go in, and just slip into bed with him, even if he’s asleep._

Fortunately, she was spared any further thoughts down this path by a shuffling noise from inside the room. She knocked for a third time.

The shuffling stopped, then became footsteps, and then the door abruptly swung open to reveal a damp-haired, bare-footed Jaime, dressed in a clean white t-shirt and grey sweatpants and smelling of the shower.

His face lit up like a blinding beacon. ‘Brienne,’ he breathed rapturously.

She simply stood for a moment, mesmerised by him. ‘Were you sleeping?’ she blurted eventually. ‘They gave me a card, but I didn’t like to’ –

‘I wasn’t sleeping. I told you I couldn’t sleep without you tonight.’

She blushed. ‘Jaime, I’m sorry. I was stupid earlier.’

‘No, _I_ was,’ he murmured, and pulled her into his arms. ‘I acted like a complete ass. I’m so sorry. I love you.’

‘No, _I’m_ sorry,’ she repeated tearfully, burrowing against him. ‘I love you so much, Jaime.’ He pushed her hair off her face and smiled. ‘So, um,’ she went on shyly, ‘about that big bed of yours. Does that invitation still stand?’

His grin split his face. ‘You fucking bet it does, wench,’ he growled, and pulled her into the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There would have been more smut, but then this would never have ended. We shall resume next time!


	17. If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night continues. And the morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. Long time no see. :-)
> 
> As the real world is shitty, and as it's nearly Christmas, I couldn't quite bring myself to write angst at the moment. So, the angsty story is taking a back seat for a short while. Instead, here is the long awaited next chapter of this story. I'm sorry for the delay, but you'd have no idea how difficult it is, for some reason, to get these two adorable idiots into bed in some way which forms a happy medium between ripping each other's clothes off, and having a lengthy discussion about their relationship before they get busy. 
> 
> Anyway, here they are. Finally. This is nothing but a huge heap of tooth-rotting fluff, NSFW smut, and a teeny tiny bit of plot right at the end. Enjoy. Merry Christmas.

****

**_If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life._ **

It seemed like an eternity since she had last kissed Jaime, rather than barely an hour and a half, and his mouth felt like the most welcoming place in the world. He pulled away at long last, drawing a soft moan of regret from her throat, and rested his forehead against hers, smiling as he gazed into her eyes.

‘Where were you?’ he breathed in a tone of gentle reproach. ‘You said you’d call, and then I tried to call you but you didn’t answer. I was frantic.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured again, marvelling at this new experience of having someone, besides her father, worry about her. ‘I didn’t have any pockets so I left my phone in the dressing room earlier. I didn’t think.’

He kissed her gently. ‘It’s okay. I know you were mad at me. Next time, please just call, though? I thought you’d either been hit by a bus or that I’d scared you off for good and that you’d been scooped up and carried off by some vile, hairy journalist type.’

‘As if that would happen,’ she snorted.

‘What do you mean? Didn’t you spot that manky ginger-bearded member of the Great Unwashed who was leering at you over the buffet earlier?

‘I think you’re imagining things, Jaime.’

‘I most certainly am not,’ he responded haughtily. ‘I didn’t recognise him, so he’s either new or more likely a local type, judging by the looks of him, but he was staring at your legs while munching a chicken leg lasciviously in your direction. I wanted to vomit and punch him in the face, not necessarily in that order.’

Brienne clasped her hands around his neck and frowned. ‘Now I _know_ you’re imagining things. Nobody eats a chicken leg “lasciviously”. And nobody ever looks at me… _that way,_ either.’

 _‘I_ do,’ he replied at once with a flash of a grin. ‘You looked damned good enough to eat in that dress, wench, I’m telling you.’ He stopped, leaned back a little and looked down at her body for the first time, smirking slightly. ‘Speaking of – where _is_ your dress?’

‘It, um – it kind of got ruined,’ she admitted with a blush.

Horrified realisation dawned on his face. ‘Oh gods. I didn’t – did I? Shit, I’m so sorry.’

‘No, not… _that,’_ she said, feeling her blush deepen to puce level, ‘but let’s just say there were, um, _marks._ I guess neither of us noticed, but Margaery said I was looking “ravished”. Fortunately she spotted me before anyone else did, and she had to… sort me out. She also had to lend me _this,’_ she added, unwinding the pink scarf from her neck to allow him to survey the damage.

‘Ooh-hoo-hoo, ouch,’ he chuckled. ‘Sorry. Well, actually, no I’m not.’ He grinned, kissed her on the nose, and then stretched his head backwards, extending his muscular throat. ‘You know, you could always return the favour,’ he said mischievously. ‘Come on, right here.’

Awkwardly, she kissed his neck in the proffered spot. He smelled of pine and cinnamon and _Jaime_ , and his skin was the texture of warm velvet against her lips. She heard herself make a small noise, echoed by him, and then moved away.

‘Well, nice as that was, wench, it’s hardly going to draw blood, now is it? Come on, give it some oomph.’

‘I – I don’t know how, Jaime.’

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes dancing with affection. ‘Really? And I thought I’d demonstrated pretty well, earlier.’ He heaved a fake sigh. ‘Obviously we’re going to need more practice. It’s a tough job, but’ –

‘Stop teasing me!’ she cried. ‘It’s not fair. I told you I’ve got next to no experience in… these things. Please don’t make it worse.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he said in a contrite voice, hugging her. ‘I’m just trying to lighten the mood a bit. Don’t you realise I’m nervous as fuck here too?’

‘You are?’ she breathed.

‘Of course. Look, come in properly, will you? Let’s go and sit down. I don’t want to have this conversation in the bloody hallway.’

‘Hallway?’ she repeated wonderingly, and looked past his shoulder for the first time. The suite began with a small lobby area, equipped with coat stand, umbrella stand and shoe rack, half separated off from the rest of the space by an ornately carved wooden screen. Jaime unwound his arms from her waist and, taking her hand, led her past this to where it opened out into an extensive, lushly carpeted lounge, opulently furnished with an upholstered chaise longue, matching armchairs and drapes swathing three full-length windows, as well as several low, marble-topped tables in the same dark, carved wood, and an immense plasma TV on the wall.

‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ he said wryly.

Gawping, Brienne took in the rest of her surroundings. A door on the left was ajar, giving a glimpse onto an equally luxurious bedroom – the corner of a pristine bed just visible – and beyond that she could sense a warm haze emanating from the bathroom in the wake of Jaime’s shower. To the right, another door led off into what looked like a second, smaller bedroom-slash-office, where she could see a shiny laptop open on a huge mahogany desk. Everything was in tones of cream, dark chocolate brown, and gold, with occasional red accents. The title of ‘Royal Suite’ was certainly accurate.

Brienne turned around in circles, trying to take it all in. ‘This room is insane, Jaime. It’s like a palace. It’s bigger than my entire apartment.’

He slid an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple lightly.

‘Is it? It is a bit ridiculous, I grant you. I did ask Tyrion to just book me a normal room, but of course once they heard who it was for, they insisted I had to have this one. They probably never normally get any guests here who can afford it, so I can’t really begrudge them. Besides, I’m here for two months, so it is nice to have a little bit of space. But if you hate it, we’ll fix it, okay?’ Brienne nodded uncertainly, not sure what he was suggesting. ‘Would you like a drink, or something?’ he asked.

She shook her head and looked around the room again as she followed him to the chaise longue, taking in elaborate lighting fixtures, and artwork which wouldn’t have looked out of place in an upmarket gallery. Jaime sat, and she lowered herself beside him, a combination of the intimidating surroundings and the growing proximity of his bed suddenly causing her heart to quicken as her newfound confidence began to waver.

‘Jaime’ – she began uncertainly, turning to him, afraid of hurting him but needing to tell him the whole truth, ‘it wasn’t easy for me to come here tonight, you know. I nearly didn’t. I – I actually avoided checking my phone until I’d got halfway home in a taxi.’ At the sight of his concerned frown, she added hurriedly, ‘B-but I was going to call you when I got back. Even though it was late. Or at least send you a message. I’m sorry. I was just’ –

‘Freaking out because tonight’s been a bit like being on the world’s scariest rollercoaster ride?’ he suggested with a smile, biting his lip.

‘You feel that way too?’ she murmured with relief.

‘Wench, six hours ago I was preparing to step out on stage in front of an audience for the first time in twenty years - minus a hand, utterly terrified, and convinced that I’d be an object of either ridicule for attempting such a thing, or hatred, thanks to that bloody Bolton article. Then my godsdamned father appears on the scene, and I figured if I was going to throw myself off a cliff, I may as well do it in style, so I went on and gave it my best shot. Two hours later, I find myself getting a standing ovation, I tell my father to go hang, the whole world and his wife is showering me with adulation again, and then the person I’m completely in love with announces that she loves me back, and we get up to all kinds of delicious things, only for it to fall apart again briefly and send me into an hour of panic that I’d blown it for good - and now here you are in my room at two a.m. So yeah, you could say it’s been an eventful night! I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. I’m literally like a jelly inside. Feel.’

He raised her hand first to his racing heart, then, with a smile, lowered it to his stomach, where she could dimly detect a certain fluttering tension beneath the firm surface of his defined abs. Then she was unable to prevent her gaze from flickering just a little lower, and raised her eyes with a quizzical smirk, despite the flaring blush which she could sense in her cheeks.

‘Okay, so maybe not _every_ part of me is wobbly,’ said Jaime with a wink. ‘And you’ll be pleased to know – at least, I hope you will – that I solved our little, um, _supply_ problem of earlier on tonight. Courtesy of Tyrion. I had to tell him what happened. The poor guy had been covering for me at the party the whole time. He more or less guessed, in any case. So, yeah, I, um - I now have… the things which we didn’t have before.’

Her blush deepened when she realised what he was talking about. ‘Oh. Um, I do too.’ His eyebrows shot up. ‘From Margaery.’

‘Is that so?’ he drawled with a grin, slipping his arms around her again and beginning to kiss her neck. ‘Interesting. Well, that that’ll keep us going for a little while, then. At least until the shops open again in the morning.’

 _‘Jaime!’_ she laughed in protest, even as her mind reeled and her skin heated at the tantalising notion that he could truly be considering a long night of active debauchery with her. Then amid her shock and arousal, a sudden thought struck her. ‘Wait – if I’ve got Margaery’s, and you’ve got Tyrion’s, then that means’ –

Jaime paused and then threw his head back and guffawed with laughter. ‘Oh, that’s classic! Fuck, that’s given me enough ammunition to tease him for at least the next decade!’

‘Jaime, don’t,’ she admonished gently. ‘Tyrion cares about you so much. Did you know he left me a key card for your room at reception tonight?’

‘Did he? The cheeky little bugger,’ said Jaime, sobering up. ‘I’m sorry. That must have been embarrassing for you.’

‘Well, it was a little, yes. Being handed it by that weird Jaqen guy. But at least it saved me the humiliation of having to ask for your room number.’

‘Yes, well, if you’d just _called me…_ ’ he said pointedly, though she could tell from the expression in his eyes that he wasn’t really annoyed.

‘Or if I’d just said yes when you first asked me…’ she admitted sheepishly.

‘No, stop that, d’you hear? I get why you didn’t, and it’s okay.’ He caressed her hand tenderly. ‘Look, Brienne, I’ve told you a dozen times, I’ll wait as long as it takes. I want you like crazy, but if you’re not sure, then’ –

She gulped and shook her head. ‘No, Jaime, I’m sure. I – I want you too. I wouldn’t have come back if I wasn’t one hundred percent sure about that.’ She tried to draw him in for a passionate kiss but he held her back.

‘But listen,’ he continued, his breathing picking up, ‘I need to know that you’re not going to run out on me again. If we go to that bed – and it is very, _very_ large’ – he added with a smirk, punctuating his words with pecks on her nose, cheeks and eyelids – ‘I need to be certain that I’m still going to find you there when I wake up tomorrow. Or, y’know, later today.’ He searched her eyes. ‘How do you feel about that?’

 _Surely I should be the one saying this kind of thing to him?_ She looked around the room anxiously.

‘Are you sure this is what _you_ want?’ she blurted. ‘I mean, I’m just… _me_ , and you’re’ – she waved her hands around, trying to encompass him, the room, everything, to demonstrate her meaning – _‘Jaime Lannister.’_

There was a pause, and when she eventually dared to raise her eyes to his again, there was mirth in them.

‘Brienne,’ he said slowly, his lips twitching, ‘did you just say my name with jazz hands?’

His amusement was infectious and she let out a slight snort of self-deprecation. ‘Maybe.’

He took her hand again and pinned her with a more serious look. ‘I thought you of all people understood,’ he said gravely, ‘that _Jaime Lannister_ , with or without jazz _hand’_ – he waggled his hand and stump half-heartedly – ‘is little more than a… brand name. It’s just a job I do. A job which I’m not even sure I _want_ to do anymore, not in the same way. It’s not _who I am._ I’m… just Jaime. Just a guy,’ he said with a simple shrug, and then swallowed hard. ‘Your guy, if you’ll have me.’

Brienne could feel her pulse walloping in her throat under his earnest gaze.

‘Are you saying,’ she whispered, ‘that you want us to… date?’

‘No, Brienne, I’m not saying I want us to _date_ , because we’re not sixteen years old,’ he said with mild exasperation. ‘I’m saying’ – he laced his fingers even tighter with hers, searching her eyes – ‘that I want to have a _relationship_ with you. A serious, long-term, monogamous, committed relationship. If... that’s okay with you?’

‘You and me?’

‘You and me,’ he repeated unhesitatingly, with a solemn nod.

A tremor ran through her. She found it hard to imagine what the future might hold, but she was beginning to be less afraid of it as her belief in Jaime’s feelings grew stronger by the minute. Nevertheless, things were rushing along at a breakneck pace and her mind had scarcely caught up to the reality of what was happening to the two of them.

‘B-but how would that work?’ she gulped, feeling her breath starting to come in panicked spurts. ‘Apart from anything else, you live in King’s Landing, I live here… and – and then there’s the press, and’ –

He sighed and sat back, looking at his knees. ‘I’m rushing you. Fuck. Sorry.’ He scrubbed his hand over his face. ‘Okay, how about this? Can you promise me just one thing? No more running? Please? We can work out practicalities later. I just need to know we’re on the same page, that’s all. I know that this is – that _I’m_ a lot to take on, but I promise you, I’m in this one hundred percent, Brienne. I’m not going anywhere. Can you promise me the same? That you’re not going to turn around tomorrow and change your mind about this? About me?’

 _My life is changed forever,_ she thought again, but it didn’t seem so bad, not if the alternative was being apart from him. ‘I promise, Jaime,’ she said resolutely.

‘Thank the gods,’ he breathed, and crushed his lips onto hers. ‘Now,’ he whispered hoarsely when he drew back, his eyes blazing with love, ‘will you come to bed with me? Please?’

With a desperate whimper, she nodded, and lost herself in his mouth.

Not breaking the kiss, he rose to his feet, tugging her willingly after him, and together they made their way stumblingly across the room. Brienne, unfamiliar with the surroundings and entirely enveloped in Jaime, knocked her knees and toes against several large marble or wooden objects, but she was past feeling any pain. She was dimly aware of Jaime knocking something over. Still joined at the lips, their legs entwined, and with their hands now making roving explorations, they finally bumped through the doorway into the bedroom. Jaime broke away and swung her around, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. He leaned his chin on her shoulder and kissed her neck resoundingly.

‘See what I mean?’ he asked cheekily, directing her gaze with a nod.

Brienne gasped. In front of her was the most jaw-droppingly enormous bed she had ever seen. It was around twice the size of a normal double, decked out in crisp cream cotton sheets, a rich gold-coloured tapestry runner, and an impressive mountain of huge, fluffy pillows, accented with coordinated throw cushions. Jaime’s black shirt and trousers from earlier were thrown casually across the corner of the bed. Around the room, artfully placed lighting created a warm, welcoming glow, and it was finished off with bedside cabinets in the same design as the lounge furniture, and another vast TV screen on the wall facing the bed.

‘Who on earth are they expecting to stay here?’ she exclaimed. ‘That bed looks as though it could easily sleep about six people!’

‘Or two very _tall_ people, who have other _much_ more interesting activities than _sleep_ on their minds, hmm?’ He began nibbling on her earlobe, pressing close to her so that she could feel his cock jutting into her backside. His hand started to wander under the edge of her top and caress her stomach and her sides, creeping slowly upwards, as he bent to kiss her and then attack her neck again.

‘Jaime!’ she protested mildly, turning as he started to suck on a spot which was still feeling raw from earlier. ‘Don’t. That’s sore.’

‘Sorry.’ He straightened up. His eyes were dark with desire but she could now clearly see the nerves written on his face. He was doing his best to conceal it, but he was trembling a little.

Taking a deep breath, she decided to be bold. ‘Wasn’t I going to return the favour?’

‘You _were,’_ he smiled with delight and pulled her closer, offering her his neck as before. ‘Go on then. I’m all yours, wench. Just suck. Hard,’ he instructed when she hesitated.

It looked very tempting, but she chewed her lip for a moment more. ‘Above your collar line?’ she asked dubiously. ‘What about the show? And photographers, and stuff?’

Jaime grinned again. ‘Oh, well if you insist, wench,’ he smirked, and in an instant he had reached down, grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, and whipped it off over his head.

All breath left her body at the sight. Swallowing hard, she stroked his chest in awe, running her hands through the soft golden hairs there and swirling her fingers against his burnished skin, finally caressing a perfect nipple. Jaime drew in a few rapid breaths and growled, ‘Kiss me.’

She went for his mouth first and he returned her kiss hungrily, but remembering her intention she quickly broke off and kissed her way first down his throat, as he threw his head back to soak it up, and finally to his chest. She kissed and nibbled her way around experimentally, thoroughly enjoying Jaime’s little groans, until she found a spot which looked particularly tasty. She licked him there a few times, and then boldly latched her mouth on and sucked hard as he had instructed, using her lips and tongue and teeth, feeling Jaime squirm slightly even as he moaned and tightened his grip on her body. When she finally let him go, she was gratified to see a small, yet quite distinguishable pinkish mark on his skin. She beamed up at him in triumph.

‘Well, there you go,’ he said proudly, squinting down at himself and then smiling at her. ‘You’ve branded me now. “Property of Wench”, that says. See?’

‘You’re ridiculous,’ she tutted, burrowing her face against him, as much out of overwhelming happiness as embarrassment.

‘Hmm, what’s striking me as ridiculous right about now is the fact I bloody well _still_ haven’t seen you naked,’ he retorted. ‘Even with everything we got up to earlier tonight. So. How about it?’ His fingers recommenced their wanderings under her t-shirt.

‘Well, _technically_ , you weren’t naked either. You still had your shirt on. Sort of.’

‘Oh, so you hadn’t seen, what? My biceps and my shoulders? Well, here they are.’

‘They’re very nice biceps and shoulders,’ she offered shyly.

‘Why, thank you. Very kind of you to say. Still not a fair trade though. Seriously, wench, throw a man a lifeline here. I’ve felt, I’ve licked, and gods know I’ve imagined. Now I want to _see._ If it’s not too much trouble, that is.’

Sudden panic overtook her. ‘Are you sure you’re not tired?’ she asked abruptly, running her hands anxiously over him with a belated blush. ‘It’s late, and it’s been quite a night, like you said.’

‘It certainly has,’ he agreed with a suggestive grin. ‘I think it’s about to get even better, though. And funnily enough, I’m feeling remarkably energetic all of a sudden.’

She gulped and looked at the floor. ‘You – you might be disappointed, Jaime.’

‘Hey. Look at me.’ She obeyed, and was stunned by the expression in his eyes. ‘Not possible. Okay? Nothing about you could ever disappoint me. Haven’t you grasped this yet, you insane wench? Oh for the love of the Seven,’ he huffed exasperatedly when she continued to hesitate, and hooking his thumb into the waistband of his sweatpants, he shimmied them down. He was wearing nothing underneath them, and his cock sprang free with considerable vigour, leaving the sweatpants to pool to the floor. Jaime kicked them away impatiently and stood before her, gloriously naked and seeming to glow in the warm light.

His beauty almost brought tears to her eyes. ‘You’re so gorgeous,’ she breathed shakily. ‘I have no idea what you see in someone like me. You could have anyone you want.’

‘Brienne,’ he said pleadingly. ‘Unless you join me right now, then that statement is blatantly untrue.’ He moved to the bed, threw aside a few of the cushions, pulled back the cover and sat down, looking up at her expectantly. ‘I love you, wench,’ he repeated.

Ridiculous as it seemed, it was his use of his nickname for her – that infuriating word that had so incensed her when they first met, when he seemed to be using it purely to torment her – which settled her nerves. Regardless of the tumultuous events of the evening, and of their relationship evolving at a dizzying speed, he was still Jaime. _Her_ Jaime, who called her ‘wench’ and teased her and appreciated her, and for some mysterious reason, was indisputably physically attracted to her. Everything had changed, and yet everything was still the same.

Taking the deepest breath of her life, she closed her eyes, and quickly pulled off her sweater and t-shirt in one go. She opened her eyes again but didn’t quite have the courage to look at him. Instead, she kicked off her shoes and, with another steadying breath, she unbuttoned her jeans and wriggled out of them, leaving just her underwear. Finally, she dared a look at Jaime. His gaze was travelling up and down her body with an expression that was half transported rapture and half unconcealed, ravenous desire. She saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down a couple of times.

‘Well, you may as well take those off as well,’ he rasped in a deep voice. ‘That’s the one part I _have_ seen. Seen, licked, tasted, fingered, f-‘

‘Okay, okay, I get it,’ she gasped, and hurriedly dispensed with her underwear, standing awkwardly next to the bed while he studied her. The silence seemed to last forever.

‘You are glorious, Brienne,’ he croaked eventually, reaching for her. ‘You have the most incredible body I’ve ever seen.’ She snorted in disbelief. ‘What?’ he said gently, caressing her side. ‘Seriously, you have to stop that. I mean it. You’re a goddess. I told you that earlier and I’m going to keep on telling you until you believe me. Look at you – your muscles are better than mine.’

‘And that’s a good thing, is it?’ she protested sceptically. ‘I thought men liked soft, curvy girls.’

‘Wench,’ he insisted, breathing heavily. ‘I’m not “men”, and you’re not “girls”. I’m me, and you’re you, and right now, as you can see’ – he glanced down at his erection with a smirk – ‘there’s only one place _I_ want to be, if you know what I’m saying. Now, fucking kiss me and get into my godsdamned bed, will you? I want to finally feast on those perfect little tits of yours which have been tormenting me for weeks.’

As he said this, his hand moved up to caress her right breast, thumbing her nipple, and her knees buckled. Half-rising, Jaime caught her as a virtual paroxysm of desire swept through her like a tidal wave. Blindly, she brought her mouth to his and he met her with an ecstatic moan, as a combination of sheer gravity and her own sudden desperate impetus drove him backwards onto the bed, Brienne falling on top of him as they kissed and writhed on the immense mattress, entangled in sheets and grappling with each other, both grunting and breathless.

Eventually, after a long time of this which left Brienne wet and pulsing with need, Jaime gained the advantage and somehow managed to roll her underneath him, kissing her devouringly as he held her head steady between his forearms.

‘Gods, Brienne,’ he gasped, taking a second to pause for breath, his chest heaving wildly.

‘I thought you wanted to – feast on my tits,’ she panted, all shame forgotten.

With a wicked, wild-eyed grin, he nodded vigorously and wriggled down to drop his head to her chest and made good on his suggestion. After a while, she felt his hand creeping lower, and his fingers moved up between her legs, finding the spot which made her arch against him, mewling almost loudly enough to drown out the positively obscene, appreciative noises coming from his throat. By the time he had finished licking and sucking and nipping and caressing, her entire body felt as though it was on fire, clamouring for his in a way which she hadn’t known possible. Everywhere that he was touching her, from his lips and tongue on her breasts and his fingers deep in her folds, to his chest hair brushing her stomach, and his cock rubbing very insistently against her thigh, was an exquisite agony. She tugged on his hair and brought his face up to hers again, claiming his mouth in a way which she hoped conveyed the urgency of her desire.

When Jaime made no move to escalate, she grew impatient and reached down and, finding his cock, she wrapped her hand around it and gave it a couple of meaningful tugs. Jaime groaned and bucked against her a little, but seemed to be content to continue almost eating her alive. Brienne pumped him desperately until he wrenched his head up with a cry.

‘Gods, wench, go easy,’ he moaned.

‘Jaime,’ she gasped. ‘Jaime…’

‘Tell me what you want, Brienne,’ he said gruffly.

The throbbing need between her thighs was threatening to engulf her. ‘You!’ she almost wailed. ‘I want you, Jaime.’

He wriggled higher until his face was so close that their noses were touching. His eyes looked black as night, and his weight on her was perfect. _‘Be. More. Specific,’_ he almost snarled, his eyes boring into hers - a challenge.

Brienne gulped hard. ‘I want you – inside,’ she managed, and stroked his cock again for emphasis. ‘Your c-cock, Jaime. Inside me. Now.’

‘That an order?’ he asked breathlessly, biting into his grin before moving his head to nibble at her earlobe. ‘Are you sure you’re ready?’ He moved his finger inside her in some way which produced a strangled scream from her throat.

‘Oh gods, Jaime! Please!’ she begged.

Jaime grinned again, kissed her, and then wriggled off, causing her to cry out in protest when he removed his finger, but he had merely scuttled the considerable distance to the bedside cabinet, and quickly returned to her, clutching in his hand a black packet identical to the one which Margaery had given her earlier. Then he sat back on his haunches and regarded it with dismay.

‘Shit,’ he said.

‘What? Oh!’ she realised instantly, seeing that he was staring at his stump with disgust. Jaime looked defeated as she rapidly sat up, gently took the condom box from his grasp and began to open it and extract one.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled into her shoulder. ‘This problem had _not_ occurred to me.’ He watched her, a pained expression in his eyes, then gave a rueful snort. ‘Are you quite sure you want to make love to a man who’s so useless he can’t even take care of this for himself?’

Brienne halted in her task and faced him, love and frustration making her blood boil. ‘Now who’s being insane?’ she asked hotly. ‘Didn’t that show tonight teach you _anything?_ You’re _not_ useless, and I won’t have you talking like that!’

His expression softened at once and he leant his forehead against hers, kissing her gratefully. ‘Crap. I’m sorry. We are a pair, aren’t we? Just having a moment of battered masculine pride, that’s all. I haven’t done… this – y’know – since it happened. Can you forgive me, under the circumstances?’

She cupped his chin in her free hand. ‘Just so long as you know that I wouldn’t have you any other way. I love you, Jaime.’

His eyes glistened and he stared deep into her eyes, breathing heavily, then glanced down between them to where she was clutching the still-wrapped condom, just a few inches away from his straining erection.

‘Well, you’d better get on with that job, then, hadn’t you, wench,’ he growled. ‘Because I don’t know how much longer I can wait to be deep inside the woman I love.’

Gulping, Brienne nodded and obeyed, all blushes and trembling fingers, Jaime helping her as much as he was able and groaning in obvious pleasure when she touched him. When he was ready, he kissed her again, long and deep, and then moved forward, pushing her down again onto the bed, resting his weight on his forearms and on her. Not taking his eyes off her face, he positioned himself at her entrance and laced his fingers in her right hand, while her left stroked his arm tenderly.

‘I love you so much,’ he whispered, and enclosing her mouth in his, he pushed inside her.

Nothing - least of all her sole, paltry, brief, unsatisfying encounter with Hyle – had prepared her for the sensation of Jaime’s hard length stretched inside her, filling and stroking her in places she had barely known she possessed. She tore her mouth away to emit a loud gasp and clutched at the back of his neck, bucking up against him wildly, her eyes flying open in disbelief. Jaime’s eyes were closed, his jaw clenched and his head turned to the side, his face contorted as though in pain.

‘Jaime? Are you okay?’ she panted.

He groaned in reply and executed a long, slow thrust, out and then in again, causing her to cry out. ‘Holy fuck, Brienne,’ he gritted out, and finally opened his eyes, meeting her gaze with one equally incredulous. ‘You feel amazing. _Fuck._ Is this – okay?’

Dumbly, she nodded as he repeated the move, still agonisingly slowly, watching her as she moved up to meet him. Then, with a grin, he pulled upwards again, and lingered for a moment before slamming into her, deeper and harder than before, letting out a loud moan as he did so.

‘Jaime!’ she screamed, feeling as though she might combust from within.

Growling, he brought his mouth to hers again and she devoured him in response, releasing him only to gasp for breath when his hips struck up a steady pace on top of her. Jaime reared up slightly and grinned at her, looking flushed and breathless, and lowered his head to give her breasts some further attention. Brienne was scarcely aware of what her limbs were doing – her legs wrapped around Jaime’s waist, heels digging into his bottom, her hands moving and grasping to feel as much of his skin as they possibly could. But her world was narrowed to the point where they were joined, molten and desperate, her need mounting with every stroke until she found herself urgently thrusting her hips upwards into a quicker pace.

Jaime cried out, a beautiful sound to her ears. He gripped her head and his eyes blazed into hers. ‘Tell me what you want,’ he panted again, a new urgency to his tone.

‘More,’ she croaked, arching into him helplessly. ‘Harder, Jaime!’

‘Oh gods!’ he yelled, and quickened his movements just the way she needed – faster, deeper, perfect. She watched him as long as she could, eyes and jaw wide open, revelling in the way his features changed as he kept up his relentless thrusting, sweat dripping from his forehead. Then he cried out again, higher and louder, and his eyes screwed shut, and she felt his legs spasm.

‘Brienne!’ he gasped. ‘Oh fucking hells, are you close?’

Her eyes snapped closed and she groaned in desperation. _Close?_ She was about to _detonate._ ‘Yes!’ she managed to squeal. ‘Yes, oh yes, Jaime, yes, yes…’

He gave a strangled cry, then altered the angle of his thrust and suddenly nothing else existed. She heard herself scream out. Jaime seemed to grow bigger within her, and his movements became erratic and frantic. Clutching at his shoulders, Brienne let her body take over. For a few endless seconds she was stretched taut as a steel cable as blood pounded in her ears over the noise of their loud cries. Then the world exploded and she was tumbling, flying, melting, breaking apart and floating back together, gripping Jaime hard inside even as he jerked wildly two more times before finally slamming against her with a deafening roar. He moaned her name, his body shuddering uncontrollably, and at last collapsed onto her shoulder, panting loudly, while waves of pleasure continued to wash over her and her own sighs echoed in her ears.

‘Seven fucking hells,’ gasped Jaime against her neck. He nuzzled until she turned to him and opened her eyes, wondering if she looked as stunned as he did. He grinned sleepily. ‘Well, wench,’ he drawled, still breathless. ‘Good thing we took the edge off earlier, huh? That was quite something.’

‘It was,’ she whispered shyly, nodding.

He grinned again and leaned up to kiss her on the lips with a little hum of contentment, and she felt him start to slip from her. Wincing, he grunted an apology and extracted himself, both of them letting out an involuntary groan as he did so. When he had taken care of the condom he flopped back down, rolled onto his side and snuggled up to her, settling his head on the pillow close to hers, and a low, rumbling chuckle left his chest.

Brienne kicked him lightly in the shin and tugged on his hair. ‘Do you always laugh? You know – _after?’_ she asked, both warmed and embarrassed by the intimacy but uncertain how to respond.

The fingers of his left hand, trapped somewhere beneath them, pinched her buttock gently in response. ‘Dunno,’ he responded happily. ‘Can’t remember. Don’t think so.’

‘So there’s something inherently funny about _me_ , then, is there?’

Jaime pushed himself up on his elbow and regarded her. ‘Are you teasing me? Or are you being a ridiculously idiotic wench again?’

She glanced at his face but couldn’t quite meet his eyes. ‘I – I’m not sure.’

‘Brienne. Look at me. Please.’

She complied, turning onto her side to observe his still-flushed face, dark eyes and swollen lips. _Swollen from_ my _kisses._ Jaime shuffled closer, entwining himself around her.

‘I’m _happy_ , for fuck’s sake, wench. Tonight I finally conquered my deepest fears and actually had people respond positively to that – all thanks to you, I might add - and now, to top it all, I’ve just had the most incredible sex ever, with the girl of my dreams. It doesn’t get a lot better than that. Except that it will. If we’re _that good_ on our first try, love, just think what it’s going to be like once we’ve got used to each other a bit and when I can hold out for a bit longer. I’m on cloud fucking nine, Brienne.’ He stroked her face and kissed her tenderly. ‘How about you?’

‘You’re exaggerating, as usual,’ she snorted.

‘About which part?’ he asked in surprise.

‘I’m hardly the girl of anyone’s dreams, Jaime.’

‘You haven’t _seen_ my dreams. They feature you, fairly prominently, usually naked, or with swords. Or sometimes both.’

This time, she was unable to suppress a giggle, wriggling beneath him in a manner which made him groan softly and give her a warning look. ‘That doesn’t count,’ she retorted primly. ‘If you dream about me _now_ , I mean.’

‘Oh really?’ he smirked, and moved his hips against her. Incredibly, she felt a fresh tingle begin at her core in spite of the profound satisfaction she had just experienced. ‘So when exactly did the dreams have to begin in order for them to qualify? Hmm? Because I can assure you that they kicked off around the time you measured me for that costume fitting.’

‘Oh Jaime, they did _not.’_

‘Oh Brienne. They did. I was hard as a fucking nail that day. Did you seriously not notice?’

‘What?! Why?’

 _‘Why?’_ he repeated with a chuckle. ‘Hmm, let’s see, shall we?’ He shimmied up, and extracting his arm, pretended to hold an imaginary tape measure against her while imitating a husky, seductive, female voice. ‘”I’m just going to take your chest measurement now, Jaime. Oh, wait, I need to come a little closer. Look at my tits, they’re so pert. My, what big biceps you have.”’

She blushed furiously and pulled the sheet up over her naked chest. ‘I don’t talk like that,’ she huffed. ‘And I know for a fact that I’ve never used the word “pert” in my life.’

‘Sshh, wench. This is how I remember it.’ He went on in the same fake voice as before, ‘”Let me touch your arm, Jaime, and show you how I’m not repelled by it, because _that’s_ not a massive fucking turn-on, or anything. Ooh, Jaime, let me measure your _inseam_. I’ll be gentle, I promise. I just need to fall to my knees so that you can imagine my luscious lips wrapped around your cock, is that okay?” Give me a break, wench. I practically came in my pants.’

‘I most certainly did _not_ say – Stop laughing!’ she cried, grabbing a throw pillow which had somehow miraculously stayed on the bed, and whacking him with it, although she could feel her own grin stretching her cheek muscles. He yelped and tickled her ribs in response. ‘You’re so – ungrateful!’ she burst out, laughter erupting from her finally as he wrapped himself around her again and buried his mouth in her neck, biting at her flesh with a comical sound, even as his fingers continued to torment her.

Summoning her reserves of strength, she rolled so that he was underneath her – a position which he seemed to accept most happily – and propped herself on her elbows before leaning down to kiss him. In a few moments they had turned from silly to sensuous again, his fingers tangled in her hair as her own caressed every part of him they could find and their hips ground dangerously together once again. When she raised her head to draw breath, he was gazing up at her with a look of the purest adoration she had ever seen, and her heart skipped a beat.

‘I’m not ungrateful,’ he rumbled seriously, in a gravelly voice, his hand running gently up and down her back. ‘You know I’m not. You rescued me. I’ve told you that before.’

‘I was only teasing,’ she murmured in sudden consternation. ‘Don’t be upset.’

‘I’m not,’ he said with an easy smile, enfolding her in his arms as she lay atop him. ‘But I’m just trying to tell you, that was the day you started to change my life. The day I fell in love with you, probably. I couldn’t stop looking at you or thinking about you after feeling you so close and having you touch me like that, it’s true, but it was more than that. I meant it – I hadn’t been able to let anyone see my arm – hells, I could hardly bear to look at it myself – and then you did, and all you said was something about what kind of weights I used, or something, and it was like this moment of _“Ohhh,_ maybe there’s a chance that I’m _not_ actually the most repulsive creature ever to walk the face of the earth, after all”. And because it was _you_ , and we were already getting close and I could _talk_ to you, about stuff I cared about which nobody else had ever wanted to listen to, and I could tell what a good and honest person you are and that there was no way you would fake it or sugar-coat anything for me, it was like – a switch flicked inside me, or something. I was a goner from that moment.’

‘You still behaved like an idiot for quite a while after that,’ she objected, half teasing him still although his confession had warmed her to the core.

‘Yes, well, old habits die hard,’ he smirked. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay,’ she murmured. ‘I loved you anyway.’

‘Did you?’ he enquired eagerly, a beam spreading across his face. ‘Do tell. I can’t imagine what on earth made you fall for me – I mean, apart from my devastating good looks and sparkling wit, and your aforementioned weakness for my biceps, obviously, but’ –

She whacked him gently again, laughing. ‘I don’t know when it started,’ she admitted shyly. ‘I realised I loved you when you threw yourself under that stupid chandelier for me and I found myself defending you to Catelyn even as she was demoting me for fraternising with you.’ He chuckled and kissed her again. ‘But it’s because you _care,_ Jaime. I saw how very much you care about it all, and how much integrity you have, and because’ –

‘What?’

‘You saw me,’ she whispered after a moment’s hesitation. ‘You saw me, and you didn’t laugh at me.’

‘I did at first,’ he said glumly. ‘A fact for which I can’t forgive myself.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘It’s not. I’m an ass, and I’m sorry.’

‘Stop apologising for everything. I know you didn’t mean it.’ He looked doubtful. ‘It’s true. I’ve known that ever since I realised that your whole act was just your defence mechanism. I love you, and I forgive you.’

‘Gods, I do _not_ deserve you,’ he rumbled, nuzzling her shoulder. ‘But thank you. And thank you, again, also, for yelling at me that day in the car park when I’d just acted like the most colossal tool on the planet. I knew you would. I think, subconsciously, I just was trying to get you to give me the final push that I needed. Hating myself was bloody exhausting, Brienne. I so _wanted_ to feel good again, but I’d been hiding behind a wall for so long, I didn’t have the courage to step out. Not by myself. I could only do it with you beside me. That’s when I knew for sure.’

‘I can’t imagine what you’ve been through these past three years,’ she murmured, her heart aching for him. She slid down, settling herself on his shoulder in the crook of his left arm. Jaime continued to caress her with his right, absently running his stump up and down her side from waist to thigh, as though he had almost forgotten he had no hand there. The sensation of the slightly ridged scar tissue over the weight of his wrist bone, a firmer pressure than fingers would be, was surprisingly pleasurable against her skin. She brought her hand to rest on it and cradled it gently.

‘Seven hells, I’m not talking about the past three years,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Or at least, not just that. I’ve hated myself since I was seventeen. Aerys, Cersei, my so-called acting career, the whole nine fucking yards. I swear to the Seven - and I’ve never told anyone this before - when the doctors told me there was no way they could save my hand, on some level I wasn’t even surprised, you know? It just felt like the fitting culmination to the long shit-storm which began the day I pulled that trigger, if not before. A just punishment, maybe.’

She looked up anxiously into his face. ‘Jaime, you mustn’t think of it like that.’

‘I don’t,’ he said with a smile. ‘Not any more.’ She nestled down again, feeling warm and safe and loved. ‘But, to put it in theatrical terms, it was the plot twist at the end of Act Two of my life. Turns out, in Act Three, I’m not the character everyone thought I was. Everyone including myself. I was _that good_ at the part. Now I just have to get used to playing _me_ instead. It’s going to be… an adjustment.’

‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll help you. Though, I think you’re actually pretty good at this new role too, for what it’s worth.’ She felt him smile again, and plant a kiss on the top of her head. ‘And I get it completely, you know. The theatre was the only place I ever really felt accepted for who I am, instead of being made to feel like a freak by guys like Ron and Hyle. Theatre’s full of misfits. That’s why it suits me, I suppose.’

‘You’re not a _misfit_ ,’ growled Jaime, hugging her tighter and grinding his jaw so hard that she could hear it above her head. ‘You’re more like a bloody _miracle._ And those fucking animals are sewer rats who aren’t fit to feed off your crumbs.’

‘That was very poetic, Jaime,’ she smiled.

‘Well, you deserve poetry. But I don’t want to talk about them.’ He turned on his side to look at her, grinning and waggling his eyebrows. ‘I want to talk about your freckles.’

‘My freckles?’

‘Mm-hmm. I seem to remember saying that I was going to eat them all. The question is, where to start?’ He bent and licked gently at her collarbone, then looked up at her again mischievously. Encouraged by her laughter, he moved lower and applied his tongue to the top of her breast. ‘Mmm, so many. So beautiful and delicious,’ he growled. ‘I do hope you didn’t have any other plans, wench. This could take all night.’

‘Jaime!’ she giggled, feeling shameless, her voice rising to a girlish shriek as Jaime worked his way steadily down her body, lapping diligently at each freckle as he went.

**************************************

 

Blinking in the darkness, she stretched her legs, expecting to come into contact with the foot of the mattress as she normally did. Her sheets felt abnormally soft this morning, and her bed overwhelmingly comfortable and luxurious, as though warmed by its own internal heat source. She burrowed down, an exquisite heaviness in her limbs threatening to pull her back into sleep, but something wasn’t quite right. Her room wasn’t usually this dark. There should be street lights or daylight pouring in through the thin curtains. Also, her toes had not hit the end of the bed, and she could detect an ache in a few unfamiliar muscles.

Her half-awake brain was just attempting to sort these experiences into some meaningful order when the heat source behind her grunted, moved, brought a hairy shin into contact with the sole of her foot, and finally flung a heavy, handless arm across her waist before settling into stillness again.

Wide awake now, Brienne froze, then shifted onto her back, painstakingly slowly, and finally plucked up the courage look to her right.

Even in the gloom – which she now realised was due to blackout blinds – the view of a naked, sleeping Jaime Lannister next to her in bed, his golden hair tousled and the sheets artfully pooling around his hips like something out of an erotic photoshoot, while a hint of a satisfied smile played on his lips, was quite a sight to wrap her head around. She had no recollection of switching off the lights last night. Jaime must have hit some central switch or remote in order to do so, but her memories were little more than a delicious and confusing jumble of desire and mind-numbing pleasure, overflowing emotions and sweet, whispered words. She had no idea how many times they had made love (three? four?) before finally collapsing into tangled sleep, all self-consciousness at the unfamiliarity of sharing a bed forgotten in the joy and comfort they found in each other. Clearly, somehow, during the night – or morning, it must be – each had found their own sleeping space, and yet now, here was Jaime, wrapped around her in sleep as closely as if they had been sharing a tiny tent rather than a vast super-kingsize hotel bed.

She had never had the chance to study him unobserved before, except when he was acting, and she longed for more light in order to do so more closely. His beauty was flawless and quite staggering. Her heart quickened and flipped over even as she felt herself blushing at the memory of everything they had done, and she was torn between the desire to explore and caress every inch of him, and a desperate urge to run away before he opened his eyes and was met with the infinitely less impressive spectacle of her own naked and rumpled self.

Remembering her solemn promise to him, she fought this urge down as hard as she could, but fear was starting to grip her stomach. _What if he wakes up and regrets the whole thing?_ she thought. _What if he was just carried away by everything last night? What if he’s had enough now?_ Her common sense was trying valiantly to argue that everything Jaime had said belied all three of these possibilities, and indeed that he had indicated having similar worries about her own intentions, but the insecurities of a lifetime were not that easy to overcome.

She looked around helplessly in search of anything that would tell her what time it was. There was no clock in the room and the timer display on the TV was off. Her phone must still be in her backpack, which she vaguely remembered dropping inside the main door to the suite when she first fell into Jaime’s arms on arrival. Jaime’s phone was on the bedside cabinet on his side of the bed. Gingerly, she picked up his arm and slowly lifted it off herself. Jaime mumbled in his sleep and turned onto his back. After waiting a few seconds to check that he wasn’t about to wake, Brienne slowly pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed, the air against her naked skin something of a shock after the toasty comfort of Jaime’s embrace.

She tiptoed all the way around the huge bed, blushing again as she noted the empty condom pack lying on the cabinet. Carefully, she picked up the phone; it was switched off. She hesitated a moment with it in her hand, but she couldn’t bring herself to switch on another person’s phone without their permission – even if that same person had spent the best part of the night with various parts of their body intimately attached to various parts of hers. Besides, there was always the risk that it would play a loud tone and wake him up, so she replaced it quietly and started towards the lounge area.

However, she was beginning to get goosebumps, and her nipples were becoming erect in a way which had nothing to do with Jaime and everything to do with Winterfell’s climate and under-heated buildings, and in any case she felt awkward walking around his suite naked by herself. She shot another look at the bed and the sleeping beauty in it, briefly wondering how people in films always somehow managed to swathe themselves in a sheet in this situation without disturbing their bedmate, then glanced dubiously at the scattered heap of her not-very-clean clothes on the floor, and finally, with relief, remembered that posh hotels would most likely provide robes.

Sure enough, after opening a few closets as quietly as she could, she found two snow-white, impossibly fluffy towelling bath robes hanging there, emblazoned with the hotel’s logo and arranged beautifully on hangers. She slipped one on gratefully, marvelling that it was actually big enough for her, and quickly went to retrieve her phone. The battery was at death’s door, but she was at least able to determine the time – 10.20 a.m. – and that there were no calls from her father or anyone else, before reluctantly switching it off and putting it back in the backpack. As she did so, her hand brushed against Margaery’s clutch bag.

Swallowing hard, she pulled it out, then hesitated and started to stuff it back down, trying to quell her sudden surge of excitement. _Jaime’s naked body_ , protested her brain. _Jaime. More sex. Jaime._ She glanced back towards the bedroom, her breath quickening, and then before she could second-guess herself any further she rapidly opened the clutch bag, extracted the second, unopened, pack of condoms, and hurried back.

Of course, he was still sleeping, and she stood there for a few moments, feeling a fool. _Should I wake him? Just climb on top of him or something?_ She couldn’t imagine doing anything so bold. Breathing slowly in an attempt to still her palpitating heart and the unexpected but definitely mounting tingle between her legs, she put the condoms down next to the empty packet and hurried on through into the bathroom.

Sitting on the toilet, she looked around. She had used it during the night but had been in too much of a sex-induced stupor to take in the splendour which extended even in here. Everything was bronze, marble, glass, and shone so brightly she almost needed sunglasses, despite there being no window. Fluffy towels adorned various rails around the room, along with small, intimate hints of Jaime – a razor, a few ferociously expensive-looking grooming products, and an almost empty pack of nicotine patches. There was a gigantic shower cubicle which would easily accommodate two people, and the promised hot tub, sunk into the floor, flanked by a full-length mirror which she had no desire to look in.

When she had relieved herself, however, she steeled her nerve to take a peek at herself in the smaller mirror over the sink. It was much the same story as after the party, only worse, her face now sleep-crinkled and her hair a giant bird’s nest of frizz. Belatedly, she remembered Margaery’s hairbrush in her bag, but didn’t dare to tiptoe past Jaime a third time, so instead she opened a few drawers and eventually came upon a hotel-issue comb, which she doubted would be up to the task, but it was worth a shot. She also discovered a guest pack containing a toothbrush and toothpaste, and cleaned her teeth with some relief, relishing the splash of cold water on her face, and finally, self-consciously, she reached for what appeared to be a clean washcloth and soaped herself under the arms and then gingerly around the sticky, aching spot at the junction of her thighs.

Feeling thus somewhat more human, she padded back into the bedroom, and with a quick glance at the still motionless Jaime, she moved round to the other side of the bed, took a deep breath and slipping off the robe, she climbed in, placing her back to him and trying to settle down again as if nothing had happened.

‘You broke your promise,’ rumbled a quiet voice in her ear.

‘What?!’ She swivelled abruptly in the bed. One green eye was open, watching her mischievously. ‘No I didn’t!’

‘Did _so_ ,’ he pouted. He opened the other eye and made a half-hearted attempt to glare. ‘You said you’d be here when I woke up. You weren’t.’

‘I – I wasn’t sure whether…. I mean, I didn’t think you meant…. I – I just went to the toilet, Jaime!’ she stammered, unsure whether he was actually annoyed or not.

‘Hmph,’ he grunted, closing his eyes again and throwing his arm around her while snuggling closer. ‘Well, I _suppose_ I can allow that. Even if you did nearly give me a heart attack for a minute there. Come on, wench, make it up to me.’ He pursed his lips meaningfully in her direction. She hesitated for a second and then kissed him swiftly, smiling as relief started to flood through her veins. Jaime’s eyes flew open again. ‘And you’re _minty!’_ he protested in an affronted tone. ‘Now that’s just not fair, wench.’

‘Wh-why not?’

‘Because now I’m going to have morning breath and you’re not.’ He sniffed her. ‘Don’t tell me you had a shower or something as well.’

‘I just washed a little bit,’ she admitted, biting her lip with embarrassment. ‘I didn’t want to be all – y’know – _stinky._ And I hadn’t cleaned my teeth since yesterday morning, Jaime. It’s very bad for your gums, you know. Besides, I don’t believe _you_ have morning breath.’

He rolled on top of her and breathed in her face. It smelled mildly sour but not unpleasant. ‘I can see,’ he began with a smirk, ‘that we still have work to do here. Number one: I repeat – just because I happen to have made a few films and appeared in a few thousand newspaper articles, I am still a normal human being with normal human bodily functions and normal human emotions. As such, I wake up just as “stinky” as the next person and feel just as self-conscious about it when trying to impress a new partner. You never used to treat me like I belong to some superhuman species. Stop it. Number two: most males – myself being no exception – happen to like their partner “stinky”, especially when that “stink” is the smell of their night of passionate lovemaking. It’s a primeval thing. Marking our territory, so to speak. Not very evolved of us, but there it is. Thirdly’ – he ground his stiff cock into her belly – ‘we also wake up with _needs,_ wench. Now, tell me honestly, were you just peeing and brushing your teeth, or were you thinking of scarpering? Because if it’s the latter, we have to have a serious talk, right now. If not, can we fuck first and talk after?’

She took a deep breath, gazing up into his eyes, which were still hazy with sleep and desire but earnestly anxious.

‘I want to be here, Jaime,’ she said. ‘Well, maybe not _here,_ in this hotel, exactly. But with you.’ He relaxed a little in her arms. ‘But I just – well, I know what you said last night, but... I mean, I didn’t want to _assume_ you’d still want me here.’

His eyes blazed with something akin to anger and he gripped her head between his forearms, his fingers on her cheek.

 _‘Always_ assume that,’ he growled. ‘I _always_ want you here. With me. Anywhere. _Always._ I can’t fucking exist without you, you stupid woman. _Never_ think that again. Promise me.’ She gave a watery nod. ‘I love you, Brienne.’

‘I love you,’ she whispered.

She tugged him closer and kissed him, and he responded with a groan, plunging deep into her mouth before pulling away and muttering, ‘ _Minty_ ,’ again with a playful scowl.

She pinched him and said shyly, ‘Anyway, I thought you wanted to talk _after.’_ She let his gaze follow hers to where the two condom packets, one empty and one full, rested side by side.

‘ _Ohhh,_ so that’s what you were up to, you saucy great wench,’ he grinned. ‘Right then.’ And with that, he dived beneath the covers and she shrieked as his tongue buried itself between her legs without further preamble.

It felt incredible, and within moments she was arching helplessly off the bed, borne on crested pinnacles of pleasure. It hadn’t taken Jaime very long to learn exactly what drove her to the edge and flying over it. As always, he continued to work her tenderly through the aftershocks until she relaxed and pulled him, moaning, towards her lips.

They kissed for an age, Jaime grinding relentlessly against her until he eventually detached himself from her mouth just long enough to grunt, ‘Condom? _Please?’_ in a desperate tone.

She grinned up at him and reached out for the bedside cabinet, but it was too far away, so instead she pushed him gently onto his back and watched him watch her, biting his lip, as she moved away to get the packet, open it and set about her task.

‘You’re very good at this,’ he murmured breathlessly with a cocky smile, as she sheathed him. ‘I feel sorry for all those poor guys with two hands who do this for themselves. Then again, I feel sorry for everyone who isn’t me, right this minute.’

She was aching for him again, drenched between the legs, but she paused to gaze down at him in wonder, caressing his face. ‘You should listen to yourself sometimes, Jaime Lannister. I can’t believe how far you’ve come.’

His grin spread wider and he gripped her bottom with his left hand. ‘I can’t believe how much I _want_ to fucking come,’ he growled teasingly. ‘Hop on, wench, before I spontaneously combust.’

Breathless, she positioned herself and slowly slid down onto him, watching his jaw tighten with the effort of control. Their eyes locked as she began to move, experimenting with differing speeds of rises and falls and gentle rotations of her hips, to see what made Jaime grunt and mutter imprecations as much as to test out what felt best to her. They quickly found a rhythm which suited them both and surrendered to it enthusiastically, shouting each other’s names as even the supersize bed frame quivered under their frantic exertions. Jaime’s right arm was locked firmly around her hips, encouraging her as they sped up instinctively.

Brienne could feel the sensations mounting and was preparing to abandon herself to them entirely when Jaime’s cries grew more urgent and he abruptly reached between them, finding her nub. She screamed, her eyes flying sharply open for a second as pleasure stabbed through her. Even in the darkness it was obvious that Jaime was right on the edge, and it only took a couple more swift circles of his fingers to send her there too, arching backwards with a wild cry. Groaning gratefully, Jaime moved his hand to grip her hip and thrust up into her like a jack-knife, a wordless shout of exquisite relief and joy leaving his throat as she felt him release inside her, pulsing hotly and prolonging her own pleasure. Finally, unable to support herself any longer, she collapsed onto him and they lay holding each other, gasping and sweaty.

‘Oh my gods,’ she panted against his damp chest.

His hand came to rest heavily on the back of her head as his lips pressed softly against her forehead.

‘See what I mean,’ he rumbled as his breathing started to slow. ‘Gets better.’

She hummed in happy agreement and snuggled into him, but he was starting to soften and she reluctantly moved for long enough for them to adjust themselves. Then he clasped her tightly in his arms and kissed her as though his life depended on it.

‘You’re fucking wonderful,’ he said when he pulled away, gazing into her eyes. ‘And don’t you ever forget it. And you’ve got me, Brienne – hook, line and sinker. I’m yours. My heart’s yours, my cock is most _definitely_ yours, and I will spend the rest of my life devoted to you. I swear it.’

She longed to believe him, but it was so overwhelming, she could hardly breathe. ‘The rest of your life’s a long time, Jaime,’ she whispered, her stomach quivering.

‘I certainly hope so,’ he murmured with a smile. He moved to kiss her again, but the quiver in her stomach had started to turn into a grumble, and finally into a loud and demanding growl. Jaime looked at it and laughed as she clapped a hand over it, mortified. ‘Trying to tell me something, wench?’ he chuckled.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I guess I haven’t eaten since before the show last night, apart from a couple of nibbles at the party. Neither have you. And it’s nearly eleven o’clock in the morning. Aren’t you hungry too?’

He grinned and leaned back, scratching his abs in a thoughtful, though distracting, manner.

‘Hmm, now you mention it, wench, I _have_ worked up something of an appetite,’ he said with a wink. ‘I’ll order us some breakfast.’ She started to protest but he swung himself over her, though not without pausing to lick her breast while watching her salaciously, and transferred himself to the other side of the bed where he could reach the hotel phone handset. Picking it up, he deftly pressed a button with his little finger before raising it to his ear.

‘Oh yes, morning,’ he said into the receiver when a voice on the other end answered immediately. ‘Who’s that?... Oh yeah, hi, Hildy, I’m _very_ well this morning, thanks.’ He winked at Brienne again and she blushed. ‘What’s that? … Oh, the show. Yes, yes, really well. Thanks for asking. Could we, um, _I_ have some breakfast please?... What? … He did?... _Ohhh,_ the _breakfast meeting,’_ he went on, rolling his eyes as Brienne frowned with incomprehension. Jaime gave a fake chuckle into the phone. ‘Yes, yes, must have completely slipped my mind. Did my brother by any chance mention what time…? … Oh, I see. Well, yes, I’m ready now. Thanks. Oh – Hildy? Did Tyrion…?... Right. Extra bacon… Extra coffee… Right…. Well, yes, acting _is_ exhausting work.’ He rolled his eyes again. ‘Okay… okay, thanks, Hildy. Bye.’ He hung up and adjusted himself against the pillows, reaching for her. ‘I’m going to have to have serious words with my cheeky little shit of a brother, you know.’

‘Did he order breakfast for us but pretend it was for you and him? To protect us?’

Jaime ground his jaw. ‘Yes, yes, it’s all very thoughtful. He didn’t _need_ to tell the kitchen that I’d been “exerting myself” and would need “extra fortification” though, did he? He’s loving this.’ At that moment there was a loud and insistent rapping on the main door to the suite. Jaime listened for a moment and then, groaning, pushed back the covers and got out of bed. ‘Talk of the Stranger. That’s him now.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘Know anyone else who knocks on a door at waist level?’ asked Jaime, retrieving the second white bathrobe from the closet and flinging it around himself. He moved back to the bed and leaned down to kiss her. ‘Stay there. I’ll get rid of him. He’s just come to snoop, the little perv.’

He stalked out of the bedroom and towards the main door. Brienne hesitated a moment and then got out of the bed too, picking up the robe from where she had dropped it and knotting the tie belt around her waist. She heard the suite door swing open.

‘What part of “Do Not Disturb” is unclear to you?’ greeted Jaime testily.

‘And good morning to you too, brother,’ came Tyrion’s cheerful voice, growing louder as he walked into the lounge. ‘Gods be good, it stinks in here! I take it congratulations are in order?’

Brienne edged closer to the bedroom doorway. Through the crack of the door she could see Tyrion wandering around the room. There was a sound which suggested that Jaime had flopped down on the chaise longue.

‘What do you _want,_ Tyrion?’

‘I’ve been trying to call you for over an hour. Your phone’s off.’

‘Gosh,’ said Jaime sarcastically. ‘Anyone would think I, y’know, didn’t want to be disturbed.’

‘Now, now,’ said Tyrion amiably. ‘Far be it from me to interrupt your night and morning of delights without good reason. But you look as though you’ve been thoroughly and completely fucked – good morning, by the way, Brienne!’ he called suddenly, in a louder, mischievous voice before turning to address Jaime again – ‘and I needed to talk to you urgently. I took the liberty of ordering you both some breakfast. Hope you don’t mind.’ Brienne had felt herself turn scarlet, and was shuffling from foot to foot in the doorway. ‘Do come in, dear girl,’ added Tyrion without looking over his shoulder. ‘It’s not like I don’t know you’re here.’ He pretended to shield his eyes. ‘I won’t look, if you’re not decent.’

She swallowed hard and stepped into the room. ‘No, it’s okay, I’m… decent,’ she said boldly, jutting her chin.

Jaime growled, stood, and went to her. ‘Gods, Tyrion, you’re a shit.’

Tyrion swung around with a grin and looked her up and down with a delighted chuckle, taking in the way Jaime was looking anxiously into her face while wrapping his arm protectively around her. ‘Good morning, my dear. Well, well. I never thought I’d see the day.’

She blushed again. ‘Hello, Tyrion. Thanks for breakfast. And the room key. And… you know… everything.’

Tyrion waved his hand dismissively. ‘All in a good cause, my dear. Though next time, Jaime, do check your facts before I hand over my and Margaery’s _entire_ night’s supply of contraceptives, there’s a good man. I had _plans_ for the night, if you know what I mean, and was not best pleased to be thwarted. Strangely, in a hotel which purports to be able to cater to its guests’ every need, it is apparently impossible to procure condoms after midnight. An oversight on the management’s part, I feel.’

‘I’m sure you managed to improvise,’ said Jaime. ‘And again, why are you here?’

Tyrion’s grin became wolfish and he whipped out his phone from his pocket. _‘Reviews,’_ he said with triumphant relish.

Jaime’s face blanched instantly. ‘Reviews? How bad are they?’

‘Bad??!’ repeated Tyrion, laughing. ‘My dear, idiotic brother. They are _rave._ Take a look.’

Jaime crossed to him and grabbed the phone, his lips moving as he slowly deciphered words on a series of tabs which Tyrion guided him through. Jaime’s eyes grew wider and wider, his smile spreading until he looked up at Brienne with a beam of disbelief.

‘Brienne!’ he exclaimed. ‘Look at this!’

Smiling at his obvious excitement, she took the phone from him and saw the headline “Brave Lannister in Triumphant Stage Comeback”, above a photo of Jaime taking his curtain call, framed in the doorway onto the set. His expression in the picture was stunned and euphoric.

 _Just after he told me he loved me for the first time,_ she thought.

She flicked through some more tabs and saw the same or a very similar photo several times, as well as one or two stills from the show, accompanied by a variety of cheesy headlines: “Kingslayer Slays Them in the Aisles”, “SCENE-SLAYA!” (that was the _Daily Raven,_ of course), and the inevitable “The Importance of Being Jaime”.

A quick perusal of the content of the articles indicated that nobody had anything but good things to say about the show, with Olenna and Margaery’s performances coming in for special praise, and complimentary words for Ygritte. Each reviewer would then wax into several gushing paragraphs extolling Jaime’s acting, his stage presence, comic timing, and above all his courage in playing the part with his disability not only in plain sight, but fully incorporated into the role. Phrases such as “new lease of life”, “a man transformed”, “turning prejudices on their head” and “new era” and “silencing his critics” sprang out at her more than once. She flung her arms around his neck.

‘You’re amazing,’ she whispered against his ear. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

‘Couldn’t have done it without you,’ he whispered back, and kissed her fiercely.

A loud cough from Tyrion dragged them back to the world, and she looked down, embarrassed, to see him holding up his hand for his phone, an amused expression on his face. She handed it back but couldn’t bring herself to leave Jaime’s arms.

‘Much as I hate to postpone the epic celebratory fuck that you’re now both contemplating,’ Tyrion said equably, ‘there’s more. My phone has been ringing non-stop since about eight this morning when these were first posted. Everybody wants to talk to you. I’ve called a press conference.’

‘You’ve what?!’ protested Jaime. ‘When? Why?’

‘At twelve,’ said Tyrion with a glance at his watch. ‘That should give you enough time to eat, shower, and have a quickie, shouldn’t it? Maybe two? How’s his stamina, Brienne? Don’t worry, he’s had a long dry spell, he’ll improve. As for _why,_ the lobby downstairs is full of reporters. I could hardly invite them up to this pheromonal cesspit, could I?’ He sniffed. ‘Mind if I open a window, brother?’

‘Only if you don’t mind me pushing you out of it, _brother,’_ growled Jaime in response. ‘I _meant,_ what’s the point of a press conference? I did a show. It got good notices. So what?’

‘Oh good gods, don’t say you’ve discovered modesty too. Anyway, that’s not the point, no. I haven’t told you the best part yet. It’s not just journalists who’ve been calling me. It’s _directors._ With offers. _’_

There was a beat. ‘Directors?’ repeated Jaime. ‘What, theatre directors?’

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. ‘One or two. But mostly movie directors.’

‘Like who?’

‘Well, to name but a few – Mormont, Dondarrion…’

‘That fucking hippy!’ snorted Jaime.

‘And Doran fucking Martell. _In person,’_ Tyrion went on, ignoring the interruption. ‘It seems he’s willing to cast you as the hero and his arsehole son as the villain in his next project, rather than the other way around. Congratulations, brother. We did it. You’re back.’

There was a long pause. Brienne looked at Jaime anxiously. He rubbed his chin and sat back down on the chaise longue, his expression thoughtful.

Tyrion pushed his hands down into his pockets and stood in front of his brother, frowning. ‘What’s the matter? I thought you’d be pleased.’

‘How many of these calls have you had?’

‘Seven or eight. Some more concrete than others. All of them enthusiastic. All of them willing to “embrace your new image” as several assistants put it to me. It’s all good, I promise.’

Jaime looked up slowly, glancing swiftly at Brienne before meeting his brother’s concerned eyes. ‘And what do you expect me to do about this?’ he asked at last in a dull tone.

‘Well’ – Tyrion, for once, seemed almost lost for words. ‘What you usually do. Read the scripts, hate them all, rant at me for a while that they’re all bilge while I listen and nod sympathetically, then ask me which one I think will make the most money. Then you do the film, hate it, promote it, hate it some more, and move on to the next one. That _is_ what you always do, right? Or what you used to do, before your hand, anyway. Like I said, we’re back. We turned it around, Jaime. This is what we wanted. Come on, seriously, what’s up?’

‘It’s what _you_ wanted!’ exclaimed Jaime, flouncing off the sofa. ‘Do you even listen to yourself? I hate it! I’ve always fucking hated it! Why in the name of the Seven would I want to go back to that?’

‘Because it pays our bills?’

‘Oh fucking hells, Tyrion. We both have more than enough money for several lifetimes. What the fuck happened to artistic integrity?’

‘Um, you never had any. Not that I recall.’

‘Wrong. I had plenty. I just attempted to murder it, whilst dying quietly inside every single day.’

Tyrion spread his arms wide. ‘Well, boo-hoo, Jaime. I’m sorry. You have a press conference in about an hour, whether you like it or not. Please don’t start. I can’t handle one of your public displays of self-pity right now, not least because, on this rare occasion, it couldn’t be _less_ warranted. Do have any idea how ungrateful you’re going to appear if you go off on one in front of the press today? So do me a favour – clean up, show up, and play fucking nice for once, or you’ll destroy your newly forged halo in less time than it takes to say “Daenerys Targaryen”.’

_‘What?’_

Tyrion looked shifty. ‘Well, there are those who are saying that the play was a publicity stunt to draw attention to yourself because of her new film.’

‘Oh, and me announcing how I’m “back” and going straight into a lead role for Doran Martell is going to dispel that perception _how_ , exactly?’

‘Well, you’d better come up with _something,_ ’ said Tyrion irritably, looking at his watch again as the sound of a breakfast trolley trundled towards the door, cutlery rattling loudly as the unmistakable aroma of approaching bacon set Brienne’s stomach rumbling again. ‘May I remind you, you owe me three condoms’ worth of good behaviour. Brienne, talk some sense into him, would you, please? I’m off. I’ll see you downstairs in the conference room, Jaime.’

‘I want to be there,’ blurted Brienne. ‘At the press conference.’ Jaime looked at her in wonder. ‘I – I don’t mean up at the front with you, or anything,’ she clarified, blushing. ‘But just in the room somewhere. To support you. Can I?’

‘You’d do that?’ he asked, gazing at her lovingly and stroking her face.

‘Of course.’ She kissed him lightly and turned to Tyrion. ‘Is that possible? Please?’

‘Oh gods, is there a sick bucket in here?’ He sighed. ‘Fine. I’ve got a couple of spare, emergency press passes. I’ll give one to Marge and one to you and you can go in together. But you stand at the back, you keep quiet, and if anyone asks, you’re a freelance local reporter. Got it?’

‘I don’t lie,’ she said haughtily. Jaime smirked.

Tyrion rolled his eyes. ‘Seven give me strength. Well at least do me the favour of recording the whole thing on your phone. Don’t just stand there scowling, or mooning at him.’ He made the ‘I’m watching you’ signal and wagged his finger up at her. ‘Three condoms, Brienne,’ he said in a warning voice. ‘Never cross a man who didn’t get properly laid last night. I’m dangerous when I’m frustrated.’

There was a knock at the door. ‘Room service!’ said a voice.

‘Just a sec!’ called Jaime, and went into the office on the right, returning with a hundred dragon note, which he thrust at Tyrion with a grin. ‘There. Tip them for me. That’s for the extra bacon.’ He pulled an only mildly protesting Brienne by the hand towards the bedroom, winking. ‘I think we’re going to need it.’

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are (sob) nearing the end of this story now. I expect there to be no more than two further chapters, and I would love it (though I know better than to promise!) if I could finish it before the end of the year. I started writing this in 2014, and although I never imagined the monster it would turn into, I don't think I could quite stand it if I went over into 2017 with it still unfinished, so I'm going to try. Thanks to everyone who has stuck around through all my long chapters and even longer hiatuses.


End file.
